


Buried in thy eyes

by ChocoNut



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Jealous Jaime Lannister, Modern Westeros, Much Ado About Nothing, Mutual Pining, No Cersei, References to Shakespeare, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23065423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: When Brienne Tarth bags her dream role of "Beatrice" in Westeros Drama Academy's adaptation of "Much ado about nothing", she isn't as ecstatic as she would've wanted to be.Little did she know when she had signed up, that putting up with the infuriating Jaime Lannister was going to be an integral part of the deal...
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 175
Kudos: 228





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about theatre. I know only a bit about Shakespeare. Yet, I bring to you this humble tale that I would like to tell.  
> A little women's day gift to all you lovely J/B fans out there :)  
> Happy women's day! Thank you for reading and hope you enjoy it!

With an enthusiastic wave and a questioning smile, Sansa waded across the sea of people to meet her at the coffee machine. “So tell me. Is it good news or bad?”

The problem was that Brienne herself wasn’t sure. This had been her dream for years, something she’d been meaning to do since school, a goal she'd been chasing for ages, hoping she could make it since she had signed up at the Westeros Drama Academy, but little did she know that the sweetness of bagging this prized role would bring with it the bitterness she would’ve given an arm and a leg to stay away from.

“Brienne?”

Dragging her mind off her dreadful imaginations of what she might likely face, Brienne forced a smile. “I got the part.”

Grabbing herself a cup, her young friend led her to the nearest table where they could chat without being disturbed or displaced. Coffee breaks weren’t the best time to have a private conversation in a public place like this, but this was the only time of the day they could both devote to such matters. “This is definitely good news, Brienne, yet you don’t appear to be that happy about it. I half-expected you to jump up and down in excitement, but here I am, stuck, instead, with a deflated voice and a disappointed smile.”

Brienne glanced down at the murky coffee in her cup, and from it, a striking pair of green eyes looked up at her, hitting her with arrogance and self-assurance and a dash of mockery like a slap on the face. Did he ever look upon anyone but those belonging to his inner circle with anything other than disdain? “I’m not going to let him wear me down,” she muttered, gritting her teeth.

“You won’t let who--” Sansa stopped, her eyes narrowing as comprehension seemed to dawn upon her. “Jaime Lannister, huh? No wonder you look so out of tune. What did he do this time to upset you?”

_Nothing but the usual..._

“I nailed the audition with flying colours,” Brienne began to tell her, recalling how the impressed look on the faces of the panelists and their gushing words of praise had left her so overwhelmed that she feared she might burst into tears in front of everyone. “I’m Beatrice, that’s confirmed, but guess who got the part of Benedick?”

Sansa’s smile told her that she’d made an accurate guess.“Who else but the high and mighty Mr. Jaime Lannister?” 

Her reaction incensed Brienne more than the outcome of the audition. “And that amuses you?”

“Of course. You two-- you're so childish, most of the times.” When she stopped smiling, Sansa had the air of a teacher tired of her students constantly squabbling. “One whole year, you’ve both been glaring daggers at each other, be it at project meetings or disseminations or even social gatherings. Aren’t you tired of it? When are you gonna bury your differences and call a truce?”

“I’ve tried my best.” Brienne recalled the numerous instances she’d tried to be civil, if not friendly, with the obnoxious Lannister. “If he can’t stop being arrogant and picking on every point I make--”

“I do agree he's not one of the nicest people to be with, but a difference of opinion at meetings can't do much harm, Brienne,” Sansa wearily pointed out. “While you both don’t see eye to eye on almost… _everything_ , it’s good to have those. Helps gain varied perspectives on whatever you’re trying to work on.”

“Taunting, pointing out someone’s shortcomings, looking down upon other team members and treating them as lesser mortals,” Brienne hotly began listing his _virtues_ , “those don’t count as _difference of opinion_. That's called insults, nothing but unhealthy interaction, intended to do nothing but hurt the target.”

Sansa put up her hands in defence. “Alright, alright, I'm not trying to defend him or anything.” She sat back and began sipping her coffee again. “Now what do you plan to do next? Give up the role--”

“I did consider that option, but I can’t bring myself to tell them that I don’t want it anymore.” While she’d thought of it all night, mulling over the various ways this could end in, something in her told her to hold on to it, to embrace the unpleasantness that came with this as a challenge and take the whole thing to the finish line. Twice this morning, she had picked up her phone to inform the academy that she was backing out, and both the times, she had chickened out of the call. “This is my first ever play at this level. Theatre as a hobby has always fascinated me, and now that I’ve been handed a golden chance to perform in public, all over the country--”

“Then don’t overthink. Just go for it,” Sansa encouraged. “Think of this as another chunk of software you have to develop with him as your annoying co-designer. Now that’s not too difficult, right? You’ve been successfully doing it for the last year or so.”

“This is not the same as writing programs,” Brienne cried, and when a girl nearby shot her a curious glance, she lowered her voice. “This is a play, for god’s sake! And a romance! I’m going to have to romance that horrid man on stage, mouthing all those sweet Shakespearean lines at him.” Only when she voiced it, did it occur to her what a terrible time she had chalked out for herself. A minimum of six months of misery and having to tolerate his nonsense.

“Oh, actors are forced to do that at times. You have no choice but to put up with people you can’t stand,” Sansa tried to downplay her apprehension. “But there’s one thing I must say.” She grinned mischievously. “Whoever picked you both has a perfect sense of judgement. I can see those characters in you.”

“Because we have the natural urge, an inborn instinct to bite each other’s heads off?” Brienne asked, blandly echoing one of the panelist’s observations.

Sansa burst out laughing. “Did you both start arguing in front of those people too?” 

“They had us enact a couple of lines together and we happened to get into-- what you’d call a _difference of opinion_ on how to deliver them,” Brienne told her, conveniently leaving out the bit where they were both informed that _this_ was what had bagged them the roles.

When she had recovered from her bout of mirth, Sansa advised her again, “I can’t wait to see you both on stage. So I’d say go for it. ”

Brienne blanched at the thought of kissing him. Many times. In rehearsals. On stage. “It’s the love story part of it that bothers me, reciting those romantic lines--”

“--is just the beginning.”

Startled by the interruption, Brienne turned around to find him standing there. A cup in one hand and the other on his hips, Jaime was the personification of arrogance. “How the hell are you going to survive our kiss if you can't bear a few sugary lines?”

Brienne tried to look unaffected, unperturbed as he approached them. 

“Hello, Sansa.” His eyes came to rest on Brienne next, and when they rose to meet hers, she could detect a challenge in them, and an urge to prove himself superior to her. “Hey, wench.”

“I have a name,” she barked, ignoring his cocky smirk as he made himself at home beside them without an invitation.

“I know, Brienne,” he obliged her, before reverting to his usual and annoying ways, “but I’d rather call you wench, though, or going forward, should I start addressing you as--” he leaned across to toss her a wink “-- my dearest Lady Beatrice?”

Brienne wanted to snap back at him, to hurl Beatrice’s nastiest criticisms at him, but before she could indulge in that pleasure, Sansa stepped in to lower the temperature that was beginning to soar around their table. “Congratulations on the part, Jaime. You two are going to make a lovely pair on stage.”

“ _Lovely_ is a word I’d rather avoid.” He gave Brienne a scathing look. “But of course, wench, you’re perfect for the part. Strong-headed, stubborn, sharp tongued and bitchy--”

“And you’d make a fine Benedick too!” Brienne fought back. “Willful, always out to mock and taunt and insult--”

“Oh, stop it, you two.” Sansa looked at them, daring them both to start arguing again. “You’ve both got the parts thanks to your fine acting skills. Now, instead of wasting time in unproductive discussions, if you'd be resourceful enough to spend your free hours practising lines or something--”

Dreading the prospect of spending hours with just him and his taunts for company, Brienne immediately shot down the idea. “I’m not going to practise with him.”

“Oh, but Sansa has a point,” Jaime agreed, for a change, aligning with someone else instead of projecting his opinion as the ultimate one. “We need to throw in some time together and--”

“No,” Brienne countered, this time a lot more vehemently. “We’ll have sufficient time to rehearse at the academy.”

Jaime was shaking his head, as always, in disagreement with her. “Not enough, wench.” 

Brienne couldn’t dream of spending even a second more than necessary with this man. “It’s more than enough.” 

“Unless you want to completely screw up the performance, what do you say to every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday?” he proposed, completely ignoring her objection and glares. “That would equip us with enough preparatory time and an opportunity to familiarise ourselves with our acting styles before we show up at the academy for weekend rehearsals.”

Sansa rubbed her hands together, enthused by the suggestion as though she were a part of the excitement. “Sounds good. What about the other parts? Anyone we know is Claudio or Hero?”

Most of their fellow-cast were strangers. “There was only one other selection from our office. Margaery Tyrell, who is going to play Hero.” Brienne smiled when she recalled her brief introduction to the guy chosen for Claudio's part. “Claudio is Renly Baratheon--”

“The youngest scion of Baratheon Industries. Never knew he was into Theatre and stuff,” Sansa gushed, her eyes shining at the prospect of running into the attractive Renly. 

“He’s good for nothing,” Jaime said, haughty and dismissive and throwing a huge pail of water onto their growing excitement towards Renly. “Thank the gods, their father had the good sense to leave the empire in Robert and Stannis’s hands--”

“Oh, you’re just jealous,” Brienne put him down, not wanting to let go of a chance to do so, “because he’s such a crowd-puller wherever he goes. And not to mention the fact that--” she sighed dreamily “--he’s so handsome.”

“You find him handsome too, wench?” Jaime lodged his eyes onto hers, and as an immediate reflex, Brienne had to blink, the green pair stirring up something inside her. “To clarify things,” he softly went on, “I’m not jealous. And I’m glad I’m not him.” 

“I’m glad too, that you’re not him,” Brienne retorted, hoping she might see more of Renly during the weekends. “You can never be him.”

Whether her remark had offended him, she couldn’t say, but Jaime got up and stretched his arms. “Regardless of what you think about me or _him_ , you’re going to be stuck with me, dear wench,” he reminded her with sly relish, “because Benedick is me, not him, and I am the one you get to go home with at the end of this story.”

With that, he left them alone. Happy to see his back and relieved at her temporary freedom from him, Brienne relaxed in her chair, when he stopped a few feet from their table, as if suddenly remembering something.

“Fortunately or unfortunately, you have only me to practise with, Brienne, not Renly,” he said, his eyes daring her to refuse his offer. “I’ll see you at the auditorium tomorrow after work, at 6. p.m sharp. Don’t be late.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The banter begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the second chapter. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> And no, I haven't forgotten my other two on-going fics :)  
> I'm going to try and work out the updates on a sort-of round-robin basis, so that none of my babies feel abandoned :D

_Where the hell is she?_

6:15, his watch said, and Jaime continued to pace the stage wondering if the wench had taken offense to his cocky intervention last evening and decided to stay away from him. Had she decided to back out of the play because of him?

Worn out after a while, he slumped into the nearest chair to take a long deep breath and a sip of water. If not up to any other good, this waiting and the brisk stroll was certainly helping him burn some calories. If he knew Brienne well, he knew she would take this up as a challenge.

She would come.

And just as he predicted, she walked in. 

He got to his feet, and in typical medieval fashion, greeted her with a bow. “Welcome, _my lady_.” 

A glare and a scowl was his reward. Pulling out her copy of the script, she tossed her handbag on to the table and took an empty chair beside his. “Alright. I’m here,” she announced, in a tone that would’ve made Shakespeare proud if he were to see _this_ version of Beatrice in action. “What do you want to do?”

“Banter with you,” he teased, enjoying the indignation on her face. “Flirt with you. Fall in love with you despite the scathing insults you’re gonna shower me with. _Kiss_ you--”

She stormed to her feet, her face matching the crimson shirt she wore. “If you’ve called me here just to play around--”

“Oh, relax a bit.” Why couldn’t she take an occasional joke? Why did she have to take everything this literally? “That is the story of Benedick and Beatrice, isn’t it?” He held out his bottle. “Here, have a sip. Your foul mood tells me that you seem to have had a stressful day. Did the meeting with the boss turn out to be a bomb blast--”

“Everything was fine,” she said, calming herself down with a gulp of the chilled water. “The meeting was a huge success. It’s just that I--” She looked a bit distressed, but the next moment, she was back to her crisp, professional persona - the one she usually wore in front of their clients. “Let’s start. I have just an hour to spare.”

Jaime reached out for his script. “For today, I’d say we read through our scenes,” he suggested, skimming down the first page to skip everything else and go directly to their first meeting. “So we can speak out those dialogues and see how they feel. The emotions and expressions and everything else can come next.”

“I can do that at home,” she muttered under her breath, her face telling him that she considered this a waste of time. “I don’t need to spend time with you--”

“Oh, but then you wouldn’t know what my lines sound like when I say it, would you?” he explained, ignoring the growing irritation in her body language. “That wouldn’t give you the correct picture, which, in my opinion, is of utmost importance for the success of our performances and the play, overall--”

“Oh, enough! Just--just stop talking so we can get on with it.” 

Jaime chuckled, and despite her exasperation, she opened the booklet and soon her eyes were lost in the script.

A smile wasn’t what he expected when she looked up at him after a minute or so. “This is so perfect. _O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease_ ,” she quoted the line with relish, her eyes dancing with mirth. “What a perfect description for a disagreeable man like that! A negative influence on everyone he meets--”

“A disease?” He looked at her with distaste. “Isn’t that going a bit too far with insults, wench?”

“Absolutely not, Kingslayer--”

“Don’t you dare call me that,” he snapped, despising that nickname.

“Why not?” Every pore of her freckled face screamed of revenge, of glee, of every unspoken insult she’d ever wished upon him. “Isn’t that what everyone here calls you? Isn’t that what you are--”

“Oh, come on! That was just a play.” Someone in their team had started it as a joke when he’d played Macbeth in the academy’s last year’s adaptation of the tragedy, and since then, it had stuck to him with people using the reference for all the wrong purposes.

“Whatever.” She shrugged. “But I quite like that title. Sounds medieval, perfect, and just apt for someone like you.”

“Can we move on?” Disgruntled, he was more than keen to keep her from meandering off their purpose.

She complied, but made a sour face when she moved ahead. “He’s no less. He calls her _Lady Disdain_.”

“Ah, but that’s because she harbours nothing but scorn and ill-will for him,” he justified, slipping into his character. “She’s so full of sarcasm and--”

“So are you,” she attacked him, flinging down the poor bunch of papers on the table. “Since the day we were introduced to each other, your snark is all I’ve been treated to. You have taken every effort possible to criticize and question my decisions--”

“As if you’ve been any less bitter,” he pounced back on her, recalling how she’d dismissed his perfectly valid suggestions in meetings, her perfectionist mentality and her pre-set prejudice for him getting in the way of rational decision making. “Stubborn and strong-willed, you’ve only always done what you felt like--”

“If you’re going to keep going like this, I might as well go home.” Her eyes were naked flames, itching to burn him down and prevail over him.

Jaime looked away.

_One, two, three…_

Once he’d counted up to ten, he faced her again, feeling much better and relaxed. Since when had this turned into a Jaime and Brienne personal war? If they had to go through with this, they would have to set aside their differences and really make an effort to set the ball rolling. 

“For as long as the play is on, we have to grin and bear with each other, Brienne,” he tried to reason with her in a much calmer tone this time, for the time being, ignoring the nagging itch to call her _wench_.

She took a moment to process his suggestion. “Right,” she agreed, much to his relief. “I’ll try.”

He gave her what he thought was a disarming smile. “A truce then. A promise to kiss our differences goodbye--”

“I’m not kissing anything that has anything to do with you,” she retorted, her tone laced with revulsion.

“Ohh, but you have to kiss me, Brienne.” He flipped to the last page, wondering what it might feel like to stop her mouth with a kiss. “See, here it says--”

“I know what it says!”

The growing pink patches on her cheeks egged him on, and unable to resist the urge to get her all worked up, he worked up the cheek to make a suggestion he himself would think twice before honouring. “What say you, my lady?” He leaned across the table to soak in the discomfort in those eyes. “Should we practice the kiss before we delve into the rest of our scenes?”

She recoiled, as though having been told to kiss a frog. And that, to his surprise, was more insulting than any of her scathing words. Women, plain and pretty, usually stood on one foot to get cozy with him, and here she was, storming into his life out of nowhere and treating him like the most disagreeable creature to walk this earth.

“I’m quite a good kisser,” he bragged, wanting to set her misconceptions right. “You’ll know as soon as you--”

“I’m not keen on finding out. I'll deal with it when it comes,” she waved him off loftily. “For today, lines would be good enough, _my lord_.”

And lines, they did, for the next half an hour or so. While Brienne had the apt expressions in place when plowing through the sarcastic remarks and the witty exchanges, when the animosity of their characters had to be put away to make room for affection and sappy flirting, she looked like she was being put through prison torture. 

“Can you at least look like you aren’t sentencing me to death?” he couldn’t help giving her the feedback when she was going through one of their romantic scenes like she was enacting a murder trial.

She looked at him, long and hard. “Didn’t you advise me sometime back that emotions and expressions and everything else can come later?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you can deliver them with the exact opposite emotions.” More experienced than her, he decided to give her a bit of professional advice. “Swallow your true feelings for me, wench, and try to step into the shoes of the character. The emotions will follow.”

Whether or not she agreed with him, he couldn’t say, because with a quick glance at her watch, she got up. “It’s 7. I’m done for the day.” Stuffing the script into her bag, she rushed to the exit as if relieved their time was up.

“I’ll see you at the academy tomorrow,” he called out, hoping their first session in the presence of their director didn’t end up a disaster like this.

When Jaime drove home in silence, for some reason, the lines _‘I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap and be buried in thy eyes…’_ refused to leave his head, sticking to him ever since he’d read it out to her. It wasn’t the romantic aspect of it that bothered him. Having done Shakespeare several times, he was used to the saccharine sweetness of some of his famous lines, but the reference to Brienne’s eyes had him thinking about it long after he’d left.

“ _Beatrice’s_ eyes,” he corrected himself, temporarily disregarding the fact that it would eventually be the wench’s eyes he would be referring to.

“Huh?”

Bronn, smirking beside him, didn’t help clear his head. “Nothing.”

“Been thinking about her eyes, dude?” His friend threw him a look that meant danger was coming. “No wonder you look distracted.”

“Tomorrow’s introductory meeting with the director and the others,” he said, not entirely truthful in revealing the contents of his buzzing mind. “That’s what’s bothering me--”

Bronn waved a casual hand. “You’ll do fine.”

Skeptical and suspicious if this so-called encouragement held some hidden meaning only Bronn could think of, Jaime was unsure if he could take it at face value or not. “Really?” 

“Of course!” It wasn’t a good sign that his companion was now grinning. In his eyes, there now was a sly gleam, something which told Jaime this wasn’t going in a direction favourable to him. “You two have such explosive chemistry.”

Jaime pressed hard on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a screeching halt. “What?”

“Chemistry, bro,” his friend patiently explained. “Never heard of it? Heated arguments, raised voices, sparks flying everywhere, sexual tension--”

“This is Shakespeare, not some modern day movie,” Jaime cut him short. “There’s no sexual tension--”

“There is,” Bronn countered with a wicked wink. “Loads of it.”

Jaime hated to admit that his friend was right, that Beatrice and Benedick’s interactions were full of this supposed _tension_ he so blatantly called out. Despite that, he feebly protested, “For most of this story, they bicker and insult each other--”

“--only to end up in each other’s arms, kissing at the altar and married,” Bronn rallied back, still wearing the same irritatingly amused look. “A good, nice happy ending, don’t you think?”

Jaime glared at the wheel, then at his friend. “Time to get off, don’t you think?”

+++++

This wasn't what he had expected of their first appointment at the academy. Staying home and learning their lines solo might have worked better. He wouldn't have had to deal with the likes of Renly and the wench's devotion for him.

Feeling totally ignored and unwanted, Jaime followed her gaze, the target of her awe and affection, putting him off. “Why do all you women eye him like he’s a piece of cake?”

Brienne continued to look at Renly with a hint of what Jaime could make out as envy as Margaery Tyrell laughed and joked with him.

“Wench?” 

No answer. Every thread of her concentration was latched on to the couple working through their lines at the other end of the hall.

This time, he shouted, “Brienne?”

“Huh?” Though she’d turned to him, she couldn’t resist shooting one last glance at Renly. “I’m right here, Kingslayer. You don’t have to yell.”

“Your infatuated mind was barely paying attention,” he hissed, his fingers tightening around the script in his hand, strangling the poor thing. “We should’ve finished one round of Act I by now, and we’re not even past--”

“Hey, Jaime and Brienne!”

He swirled around to find Catelyn Stark, the woman who would be running the show, looking at them with an expectant smile. “What’s up?”

“Just memorizing our lines,” Brienne replied with a confident smile, all her discomfort from half an hour back, vanishing in a trace. “We’re ready for the read-through. Can’t wait to start.”

Catelyn, however, didn’t seem to be in a hurry to begin with it. “Before we start, there’s something I’d like you both to do for me.”

Brienne’s smile weakened. “Yes, Ms. Stark?”

“Call me Catelyn,” she genially insisted, with a motherly touch to her tone. “Like you proved at the audition, you’re both brilliant with the banter. So picture perfect, that the bard himself would’ve approved. But--” she took a pause which gave out far from encouraging vibes. “What I’d like to see is how good you are with the romantic bit.”

Jaime took in all the air he could, bracing himself for what was to come. He had done it before. He could do it again. “Which specific part do you want us to enact?”

“The kiss. Why don’t you have a go at it?”

This, he hadn’t anticipated. Not this early, at least. He slid his free hand into his pocket, trying not to think that the other was drenched in sweat. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Brienne’s face. White as a sheet, she stood there like some exquisite sculpture.

“If you need some prep time--” Catelyn stepped back, towards Margaery and Renly who were a few feet away. “I’ll be back with you in a while--”

Brienne spoke before he could. “Not today.”

He noticed a few faint lines on Catelyn’s forehead. “Why not?”

The wench was perturbed, he knew that for sure, but she returned to her usual confident self, her tone, crisp as usual, when she requested, “Can we do it another time? We need to work it out a bit.”

“Next week, then?” Catelyn suggested.

“Sure,” Brienne agreed, and Jaime was certain he'd heard a faint sigh of relief.

“I told you,” he hissed, when Catelyn had moved away from them. “We ought to have tried out the kiss first.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't go as per plan for Brienne.

If there was one positive outcome of this first practice session, it was her meeting with Renly. 

Once Catelyn had left them in peace and the danger of possibly having to kiss Jaime had passed, Brienne was only too happy to give up his company and rush over to gain the acquaintance of the handsome Claudio.

“I’m a big admirer of your work,” she gushed, when they were done with the preliminaries. 

Renly responded with a polite, “Thank you,” his attention diverted every ten seconds by Margaery who seemed determined to cling to him all evening. 

Brienne, though put off by the girl’s behaviour, decided not to let it ruin the pleasant feeling just being around Renly brought about in her. “I watched your performance last year. Loved how you brought Romeo to life,” she praised, recalling how she and Sansa had secured prime seats and oooh-ed and aah-ed and sighed when he’d recited those lovely poetic lines to his heroine, who, much to her ire, had been Margaery again.

“I’m flattered.” He threw her a charming smile, and she considered herself lucky not to swoon right there.

“Tis’ the truth and nothing but that,” Brienne said, well aware that she was blushing like a teenager. “The year before that, you were such a brilliant Hamlet that I cried in the end.” Again, she remembered how she’d gone to pieces when Horatio had bid him goodbye with a tearful, “ _Good night, sweet prince.”_

“Of course, he’s the best,” Margaery chimed in, fluttering her lashes at him. “I’ve been lucky to have worked with him twice before,” she said, with an infuriating superiority complex.

That, she did, Brienne had to agree, and to a certain degree, she was envious of the pretty girl who made him a fine match, be it her Juliet for his Romeo, her Ophelia to his broody Hamlet or a fitting Hero to his Claudio.

“And I can’t wait for this year’s as well,” Margaery encouraged him with a warm smile.

“You would’ve made a fine Benedick too,” Brienne couldn’t help voicing her desire, something that had been gnawing at her since the cast had been picked. “I--”

“It is so unkind of you to say such a thing, my dear Lady Disdain.”

Bracing herself for an onslaught, Brienne wheeled around to meet his naughty eyes. Was it that difficult for him to leave her alone and peaceful for five minutes? Sometimes, her situation led her to think that if there existed a thing like reincarnation or past-karma, Jaime had been sent to punish her for her past sins.

“Jaime Lannister,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand to Renly.

“You were in the news last year, I remember,” Renly said, shaking his hand, “when you split away from your father and decided to join a software firm instead of taking over his empire.” He frowned at Jaime as if he’d committed a crime. “Why, if I might ask? If I were you--”

“You’re not me,” Jaime spontaneously retorted, his tone so sharp that it could chop Renly to pieces. For a few heated seconds the two men locked eyes in a much-less-than-friendly stare, and then, Jaime calmed down, the dislike fading away from his face. “I loved your Hamlet, by the way,” he diverted the subject, his eyes crinkling as he wore an amiable smile.

Renly returned his smile with a nod, pacified by the compliment.

Jaime turned to Brienne again and theatrically held out his hand. “My lady, would you care to join me?”

“For what?”

“The reading,” he said, sounding normal and more like himself. “They want us at the table.” When Renly and Margaery had politely excused themselves, he whispered, “If you’re done admiring your useless Claudio--”

“He’s anything but useless,” she hotly defended him.

“You really think he’ll make a better Benedick than me?” he asked on their way back to the others.

Brienne shrugged, quite open to that possibility. “Maybe. You never know.”

“You really are living upto your name, Lady Disdain,” he remarked with disdain. “It is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted.”

She sat down at the place earmarked for her. “Really?” Such confidence! Such arrogance!

“I would find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none,” he went on in the same dramatic tone, a smirk playing on his lips.

Right. But this was a game two could play. Why should she be left behind? “A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor,” she gave him back, matching his dialogue, his tone, his expression.

Jaime turned to look at her properly. “Seriously? You think I’d be such a terrible match?”

“Well, yes.” It was better to be ruthlessly honest with him. “You’re like your character in real life. So obviously--”

“But your character ended up falling for him,” he slyly pointed out. “Don’t you forget that.”

“I am _not_ my character.” What would the man take to shut up? “I can never settle for someone like you, not even if the world is coming to an end and you’re the last man alive.”

“Huh?” He slammed down his script. “And your _dear_ Claudio? You think he’ll be the perfect boyfriend, the ideal husband--”

“Why the hell do you want to drag him into everything?” she hissed. It drove her mad when he criticized Renly without reason.

“Because you’re so clearly smitten,” he complained, as if he had a personal objection to it, “though I can’t understand--”

A cough behind them drove them to put an end to this endless discussion. 

“I couldn’t help overhearing your argument in bits and pieces.” Catelyn was beaming down at them. “I’d say, keep up the same tempo when we actually get on with it, and I’m sure, we’ll be treated with a standing ovation. Now if you don’t mind taking a break for a while, shall we begin with the reading?”

After her subtle admonishment, peace prevailed, though Jaime continued to look at her like he’d burn her to ashes long after everyone had taken their places and the actor playing Leonato began the proceedings.

The reading went on without further ado, and Brienne, much to her surprise and relief, managed to set aside her irritation and traverse through her lines.

By the time they had wound up, it was dinner time. Famished and eager to get back home after a taxing day, she was among the first to reach for the exit after a quick goodnight to her fellow actors.

“Hey, wench.”

Suppressing a groan, she waited until he caught up with her.

“How’re you planning to get home?”

“Walk.” She had not got her car. “or maybe a taxi,” she decided on second thoughts, too tired and hungry for the exercise.

“What about dinner?” he asked, holding the door open for her.

Now that he mentioned it, she started evaluating the options available. “Maybe a take out or--”

“There’s a pizza place at the end of this street.” He pulled out his car keys from his pocket. “Come on, let’s grab a bite and I’ll drop you home after that.”

She stopped, her legs suddenly dead at the prospect of what was coming. “Dinner with you?”

“It’s only dinner.” He looked like he’d been punched in the face. “I’m not asking you to marry me.”

Brienne couldn’t help muttering under her breath, “As if I’d agree.”

The naughtiness was back on his face. “For dinner or for the marriage?”

“Oh, please!” The man was incorrigible, terribly infuriating, unbearable--

“Come on, then.” He lingered around, gently whistling as he played with the keys.

Even if it meant tolerating him for an hour or so, dining with him would mean getting rid of him and escaping to the safety of her flat. She relented, and he drove them both to the pizzeria, which Brienne had to admit, was a pretty good option to satiate her craving for comfort food.

“So,” he drawled, when they were almost through their meal. “What have you thought about it?”

“About what?”

“The kiss,” he reminded her. “We need to try it out and see how best we can--”

“We can try and take time out for it next week,” she procrastinated, sighing heavily. “Though I really wish there wasn’t a kiss in this play.”

Jaime wiped his fingers clean. “Am I that repulsive?” His eyes penetrated hers, traveling down the depths of her mind and trying to read all her intimate personal thoughts.

 _Not you, but your behaviour,_ she felt like explaining, but decided to let it go. Where Jaime was concerned, every word had to be measured. Anything she said would only invite trouble.

“You’d have happily done it a million times if Renly had been in my place,” he provoked, drawing her out of the comfortable peace she had resigned to.

She set down her napkin. “What the hell is your problem with Renly?”

“And what the hell is your problem with Margaery?” He sat back to observe her, making her uneasy. “Jealous of the pretty girl, are ya, wench? Can’t bear to see her romance your precious Renly?”

“Not jealous, but disgruntled, yes!” The world was so unfair, biased to those blessed with beauty and grace. “Because she’s pretty, she gets noticed, grabs the attention of handsome guys like Renly.”

“Looks aren’t that important.”

“Says the man who mocks me and calls me wench!” If it had come from anyone else, she’d have believed it to be their sincere opinion, but Jaime… he was the last man on earth to see beyond the physical.

“I could call you _Lady Disdain_ if you prefer that to wench,” he offered, and she could immediately make out, despite his straight face, that he was trying to suppress a laugh.

So this was all a stupid joke for him. Words wouldn’t do justice to what she felt for him, to what she wanted to say to him. There was one thing she could do, though. Get out of here. She pulled out some cash from her purse to cover her half. “I’m leaving.”

Jaime eyed the money with disapproval. “You don’t have to pay--”

“You haven’t brought me out to dinner,” she made her intention clear. “This isn’t a date, so let’s be professional--”

“Do you want it to be a date the next time?” he teased, his eyes twinkling, his trademark expression returning to taunt her. “If you wanted me to ask you out, all you had to do was tell me.”

Having borne enough of this madness, she jumped to her feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the academy.” 

But tomorrow was Sunday and she was already beginning to dread its arrival. Who could be enthusiastic about yet another tortuous session with Jaime, while Margaery would be having a wonderful time with Renly.

He signalled for the bill. “Gimme a minute, and I’ll drive you home.”

“Thanks for the offer, but a taxi would be fine, I think.” 

And without entertaining any further discussion, she left the cafe and made her way to the taxi stand.

As her luck would have it, something as trivial as getting a ride home on time wasn’t in her fate today. Five minutes had gone, and now it was almost nearing ten, when she spotted his car a metre or so away.

He drove over to her side and pulled down his window. “The offer still stands, Brienne. I can drop you home. Hop in.”

Running into him again was worse than waiting for a taxi. “Thanks again, but--”

“Oh, stop being this stubborn and get in, wench.”

She didn’t budge. But he didn’t drive away, either, and before long, Brienne realized they’d both keep standing there all night unless one of them gave in. It had to be her.

“Have you always been this angry and adamant and childish?” he asked, when he drove out of there.

“Have you always been this infuriating?”

“Point taken,” he surrendered, then let it be at that, quietly cruising down the reasonably empty road, allowing her the privilege of a few miles of welcome quiet until her destination arrived.

“Thank you,” she said, when he pulled over at her building.

When she turned to leave, she heard him say, “I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap and be buried in thy eyes.”

She stopped, wondering what had suddenly gone into him.

“The last bit... it means, he thinks she has beautiful eyes,” he explained.

“I know what it means.” What she didn’t get, was the current context. “How is it relevant now?”

“It’s just my way of getting a grip on my lines. Tossing them here and there helps preserve them in my memory.” With a faraway look in his eyes, he said, “Good night, Brienne,” before he drove away. 

Brienne stared for a while after he was gone, strongly considering the chances of him being eccentric in addition to arrogant and sarcastic.

+++++

Sunday brought in with it a truck-load of restlessness and a mild headache, the result of disturbed sleep, a good part of her night, punctuated with nightmares where she’d found herself living in the Shakespearean world as Jaime’s wife and lover.

 _It was just a dream,_ she kept consoling herself all day, trying to forget how she’d been jolted awake when Jaime had begun to passionately kiss her. What was comforting was that her nightmare kiss wouldn’t become reality for at least a week.

So if the gods showed her mercy, today’s session would be uneventful.

But things, many times, didn’t work to expectations, and Brienne discovered that as soon as they entered the theatre. Catelyn Stark was waiting for her, engaged in a conversation on her cellphone, with Jaime by her side, restlessly shifting his weight from one leg to the other. 

The moment she approached them, Jaime detached himself from Catelyn. “She wants to speak to us.”

Brienne suddenly didn’t have a good feeling about this. “Why?”

Before Jaime could explain, Catelyn came over. “About the kiss. I’ve been thinking today is a good day to show me what you’ve got for us.”

Brienne couldn’t believe her continued stroke of ill-luck. “But I thought we had time until next week?”

“I was observing you last evening,” Catelyn went on, her expression telling Brienne this wasn’t going to end well. “Your interactions outside the reading have been--” she paused, as if to hunt for the right term “--argumentative. Too much friction, I’d say. While that is of utmost importance for your parts, I’m beginning to seriously doubt if you can pull off the romantic scenes.”

“We will. Don’t worry,” Jaime tried to convince her, adopting the tone he usually employed with their bosses at work. “Our personal issues won’t stand in the way of our performance.”

“Show me then,” the director insisted, this time, refusing to relent. “I’m afraid it has to be today. Next weekend is too far away.”

“Sure,” Jaime agreed, much to Brienne’s horror. “Give us a moment.”

“What the hell are you doing?” she snarled, when he’d drawn her a couple of feet away, well within Catelyn's line of vision, but out of her earshot. “You can’t just commit to something without consulting me--”

“We don’t have a choice, Brienne--”

“I’ll talk to her,” she argued, trying to talk him out of it.

“You think I didn’t try that?” For a change he sounded exasperated instead of her, as if he’d lost his cool.

“You didn’t try hard enough.”

“Look.” He shut his eyes for a second, as if to calm himself down, then fixed them onto hers, cajoling her, “Why don’t we get it over with? It’ll just take a few seconds.”

“This is ridiculous. We can’t show her how terrible we are at this--”

With an impatient click of his tongue, Jaime swooped down on her, his hand on her face, his mouth seizing hers, not allowing her to finish what she had meant to say, not allowing her to breathe. Stunned, Brienne could do nothing but go on with him, the wind knocked out of her lungs, the words out of her head and all her thoughts flying here and there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward time to follow, followed by some... revelations.

Her eyes, wide with shock and surprise, were the last thing he saw before he closed his. 

Brienne didn’t pull away, but she didn’t kiss him back either, and after what was an uncomfortable three to four seconds, Jaime decided to bring this show to an end.

When he did, her mouth fell open, and she stood there staring vacantly at him. Damn, this was awkward! He’d kissed a bunch of women before, but not even once had he been received with such a reaction.

“Wench, I--” he began to explain as soon as his tongue had thawed and his brain had started functioning again, but held back his justification when he noticed Catelyn approach them with a satisfied smile.

“That was very well done.” 

Jaime could say from her expression that all the doubts she’d carried a moment back were now dispelled. Still unable to believe his impulse and dazed from what he’d just done, he acknowledged her with a subdued, “Thank you, but it was--”

“Spontaneous?” she guessed, impressed. “In character? Stopping her mouth just like Benedick does?”

“Sort of,” Jaime mumbled, never having been this _spontaneous_ in any of his romantic encounters. Such was his state now, that if the ground beneath his feet gave way and swallowed him, he’d be more than happy to disappear down it and never surface again until the embarrassment had died down.

“Just a little feedback, though,” Catelyn poked in again just when he thought she would go away and let them be, “which I’m sure you’ll perfect by the end of our rehearsals.” She was looking at Brienne with the air of an overly perfectionist teacher. “You need to respond with a lot more passion. You love this man. So feel it. Let it flow into the kiss.”

Still blank as a zombie, Brienne mechanically nodded.

“Right then, let’s get started with today’s schedule,” Catelyn briskly got back to business, withdrawing to mingle with the others as they began streaming in one by one.

Jaime was left alone with his on-stage love interest, unsure of what to say to her. But something, he had to, because the tension in the air was strangling him. “Brienne--”

“Let’s not keep the others waiting,” she crisply put him off, not meeting his eyes. With no other sign to acknowledge whatever had just happened, she proceeded to join the rest.

“I can explain,” he tried telling her when she settled down at her designated seat. For today, they had been seated apart, and he wanted to clear things before being dragged away from her company.

“There’s no need,” she snapped. “And there’s no time either. The session is about to begin.”

Jaime was about to keep talking, but when Catelyn began addressing the gathering, announcing that they would be spending today’s hour in a team-building activity, he reluctantly shuffled over to the only vacant chair remaining.

“Bonding is the key,” the director began lecturing. “We need to get to know each other and coordinate better before we put together a show--”

She kept droning on, and Jaime soon lost focus, only half-listening to the goings-on. His attention kept slipping, his eyes flitting across the table to where Brienne sat. He’d have given an arm and a leg to figure out what she was thinking about him right now. His mind kept rewinding to the kiss, and now that he’d calmed down, he had to admit it wasn’t as terrible as he’d feared it might be. A light spicy fragrance had wafted around her, not overbearing, not heady, but alluring and seductive, something he’d love for his date to wear. Her lips tasted of strawberry, soft and supple, so deliciously kissable, something no man would turn away from, if only she wasn’t this surly and disagreeable all the time--

“Jaime?”

He found himself looking into Catelyn’s mildly annoyed face. With no context and guilty as a kid caught sleeping in class, he glanced around for help.

“Your turn,” Catelyn prompted, impatient. “Tell us three things you know about Brienne. I presume since you work together, it shouldn’t be that difficult.”

“Um---” he racked his brain, appalled at how little he knew about her despite being around each other for over a year.

“Three _positives_ ,” Catelyn specified, before he could go on. “We’re focusing on only the good here.”

“She’s good at her job,” Jaime told the crowd, recalling how he’d been at the receiving end of her meticulous and perfectionist working style.

Everyone around cheered in encouragement for him to go on.

He was taken back to the hours she spent with newcomers, coaching them, guiding them, a buddy they could turn to for the silliest of their problems. “She’s always ready to help others.” 

“Nice one. We need one more.”

Apart from work, he’d barely ever interacted with her. Except now, when they were compelled to spend time together. So he thought hard, but couldn’t really come up with anything else, and then his eyes wandered to Renly. “It’s quite easy to gain her trust,” he made a wild guess, recalling how she had been so fucking smitten with Renly last night. Sweeping past the others, his eyes came to rest on her again. “And once you get there, she’ll do anything for you.”

A flicker of emotion crossed her eyes, the mildest reaction to his statement, and then it was gone. She went back to the stiffness that had gotten into her since their kiss.

When he was finally let go with an applause, he endured the rest of the game, fighting to keep his attention, glancing stealthily at his watch from time to time, waiting for this ordeal to end so he could find a moment to talk to her.

“Brienne, wait,” he called out, striding after her when the crowd began to disperse.

She stopped, but still wore the same wooden expression.

“Dinner?”

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” she politely refused, extra courteously, in fact, which alarmed Jaime because it was so not her style; not at least when she dealt with him.

When she rushed to the taxi stand, he went after her. Grabbing her wrist, he compelled her to halt. “Hey, hang on, wench.”

She turned, her chin wobbling.

Realizing he’d gone a bit too far, he released her hand with an embarrassed, “Sorry.” When she still refused to speak to him, her cold behavior was beginning to get on his nerves. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why did you do _that_?” Her voice was strained and soft, but her eyes were burning embers, threatening to reduce him to ash if he got too close.

“I told you--” He waited for a group to vacate the area, and once they were out of earshot, he resumed. “Catelyn didn’t look convinced at all. There was the threat of us losing the parts.”

“Fine.” She paused, as if pondering his reason. “I easily trust people, do I?” she asked him in the same quiet tone, coated with an added bit of disappointment this time. “You think I’m naive and--”

“Gods, not at all!” It had not occurred to him she’d still be brooding over a simple remark that was nothing but well-meant. “I didn’t say that in a negative sense--” 

“What made you point it out?”

“I just thought--” he recalled his defense for his assumption “--that because you got friendly with Renly again after meeting him just once--”

She shook her head in exasperation. “What is it about him that bothers you so much?”

A handful of things, he could’ve listed, but instead, he chose out to peace out. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. If you found it offensive I’m--”

“Never mind,” she waved off the apology he was struggling to deliver. “It’s okay, let’s just pretend _today_ never happened.”

For once, Jaime found himself readily agreeing with her. “Dinner?” he tried again, keen to do whatever possible to break down the towering wall of tension.

“I’m going home.” 

With her, a certain reluctance to open up had always been there, but when the usual dose of words to counter him didn’t come, it, kind of, unnerved him. “Okay then,” he said, thinking it best not to trespass into her personal space. Not tonight, definitely. “I’ll see you in office tomorrow, and on Tuesday evening we can continue from where we left off--”

“I’m not coming for any more after-work hours.” This time she didn’t look angry, only determined, closed, like a tortoise concealing itself in its shell.

“But why--”

“No specific reason. I'm just tired after a long day,” she cut him, vague and evasive. “We’ll directly meet here next Saturday.”

Deeming it futile to persuade her, he stuck to a quick good night and a polite nod.

And when she got into a taxi and zoomed away, he was left staring after her, standing in the dark for quite some time, ruminating over her denial to stay back after work with him. 

He had intended to take today’s unexpected incidents in his stride, to shrug them off and move on with his day, but much to his irritation, all through his drive back home and even after that, he couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss.

+++++

With the new week, came a humongous pile of work, and Jaime had no time to even spare five minutes for a cup of coffee, the days flying past him as if they were seconds. By the time he’d noticed, it was already Friday.

He had crossed paths with Brienne on Tuesday when he found her in deep conversation with Sansa, but as soon as he approached them, she mumbled a hurried, obviously made-up excuse of being late for a meeting and dashed off. 

To top it all, she ensured she wasn’t anywhere around him for the rest of the week.

By Friday night, he couldn’t sustain anymore. Her hiding from him pinched him to such an extent that the whole story came tumbling out of his mouth in an unplanned confession to Bronn, the welcoming influence of alcohol easing his tongue, helping him spread it all out on a platter to his friend.

When he was done, Bronn regarded him with a mixed look of disapproval and amusement. “You’re such a cunt, you know that? So tactless and insensitive.” 

Jaime couldn’t believe his friend. This was the pot calling the kettle black. “Never thought I had to take behavioral lessons from you.”

Bronn was all seriousness for a change. No mocking smirk, no sly side-glance. “First, you make fun of her--”

“It was just to break the ice, something light-hearted--”

“Day after day, you make every minute she spends with you living hell, ridiculing the man she ardently admires--”

“He doesn’t deserve such hero-worship!” First it was Brienne who never failed to jump to the pretty boy’s rescue, and now Bronn. What was the world moving towards? A Renly Baratheon fan club?

“And then, out of the blue, you just kiss her? Like, trapping her lips in a surprise?” Bronn looked at him like he’d committed a series of crimes. “What else do you expect her to do, dude?”

“The kiss was purely for academic purposes. A warm up for the play,” he clarified, worried it might seed other ideas leading to unhealthy coffee-time gossip. 

The smirk was back to torment him. “I’m sure it _warmed_ you up in ways you don’t want to describe, getting you nice and _hard_ in places you don’t want to--”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He had to stop Bronn before the conversation started going downhill. “And it was never my intention to insult her last week,” he said, recalling the remarks he’d thrown at her. “If it came across that way--”

“What about the time you first met her?”

Jaime mentally went back in time. “What about that?”

“You made comments about her that were in absolute bad taste,” his friend accused him. “Accept it.”

“She rubbed me the wrong way too!” Jaime shot back in heated defense, though feeling guilty at the recollection of all he’d said.

“What are you? School kids?” Bronn had the air of an irate parent. “Do you even know deeply your criticism impacted her?”

“I don’t see why it should have.” She’d given him good too, exploding with rage and never cutting down on her caustic words whenever it had gotten too much. “It should’ve been left then and there, dusted off and forgotten--”

“Maybe it didn’t affect you, but to her, every word you said was a knife to the heart, poisonous, something she took a while to come out of--” Bronn stopped, as if hesitant to reveal more. 

“What?”

Bronn shrunk back into secrecy. “Nothing. Now finish your drink so we can leave. I have a date, a lovely blonde waiting for me--”

Jaime banged his fist on the table. “You can’t just dangle a carrot in front of me and walk away!” He had to know. If he didn’t, it would ruin his sleep, his weekend, his peace. “Tell me.”

His companion took his time, as if reconsidering.

And Jaime’s patience was draining away. “We can’t sit here all night.”

“I don’t know if I should even talk about this. All this was told to me by Sansa in absolute confidence,” Bronn continued to resist, frowning uncomfortably. “So if she or Brienne get to know that I--”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Jaime hurriedly promised him. “I swear.”

“Not even to Brienne. Not even by accident.”

“Nope.”

Bronn looked straight into his eyes. “Brienne had a crush on you when she first met you.”

If the kiss was a bolt out of the blue, this was a bloody earthquake. Jaime downed the rest of his beer to help him process this piece of information. “Not Brienne Tarth. You’re either mistaken or simply kidding me.”

“That’s why she was terribly insulted by all that you did,” Bronn revealed. “That’s why she was all snippy back then. You’ve been mean to her, Jaime. You still are--”

“This is rubbish,” he said, more to himself in absolute denial. “Completely untrue and--”

“Fine! You don’t have to believe me. Continue being nasty to her. Keep breaking her heart. Had it been someone else in your place, he’d have been kinder to her.”

“Well, if this isn’t just your wild imagination or some stupid office gossip that’s now, thankfully, dead and miles underground, why does she keep mooning over Renly?” Surely he couldn’t have erred in reading her blatant attraction for the pretty boy.

“Because as the days passed, she got over you,” Bronn explained, like it was the most logical progression. “She found Renly to be a better option, perhaps. He seems to be more her type than you.” He went on to advise, “To cool things between you, why don't you try being nice to her for a change?”

“It can’t be,” Jaime denied again, the alcohol and the shock of this revelation getting to his head. “She can’t have feelings for me.”

“Not anymore, but she did, once, fancy you, Lannister.” Bronn tilted his head, smiling crookedly, as if to tease and be critical of him at the same time. “Though I can’t understand what she saw in you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward, yet eventful weekend.

“Ah, there you are!” Sansa’s annoyed voice came pouring out of the earpiece, sucking the sleep out of her. “Why the hell did it take you this long to answer the phone?”

It took Brienne no more than a few seconds to jerk herself off her semi-conscious haziness and put forth the first plausible excuse that crossed her mind. “It’s Saturday morning,” she grumbled. Groggy, her head still heavy and mind burdened with last night’s non-stop brooding, she dragged herself off the bed, the whole of the previous week weighing her down. “Of course, I’m half asleep.”

Annoyingly astute, particularly when not required, Sansa wasn’t far from seeing through her flimsy pretence. “I’ve never known you to sleep till 10, Brienne.” 

“Happens at times,” Brienne kept it on, ambling in the direction of the bathroom. “I stayed up late last night.”

“And we both know why last night might qualify as one of _‘those times’_.”

To feign ignorance was her best way out of this sticky discussion. “I’m not sure--”

“Oh, please, Brienne, isn’t the reason for your recent insomnia a bit too obvious? Avoiding him isn’t the solution to this, you know,” was the bang-on-target response that hit her, Sansa’s voice, and more than that, the hidden admonishment behind her observation, warning her to brace herself for a lengthy lecture to come.

“I wasn’t avoiding him.” Supporting the phone between her ear and shoulder, she squeezed some toothpaste onto her brush. “I was just keeping to myself, minding my own business.”

Her defense was met with a long pause and an equally long breath, after which, Sansa announced their plan for the day. “We need to talk. Meet me for lunch.” 

Now that sounded like an hour-long session of digging up the past for a messy postmortem. “I’m too tired,” Brienne groaned, “I don’t think I can--”

“You can take all the rest you want after lunch,” Sansa continued to insist, refusing to be taken in by her excuse. “1 p.m, same place. Don’t be late.”

Like a robot, Brienne mechanically chugged through her routine. Weekends gave her the privilege to sleep in a bit, but today, the whole advantage was lost with most of the night spent in tossing around the bed, stalked by all that had happened between her and Jaime.

 _I wasn’t consciously avoiding him,_ she muttered to herself, pouring herself a cup of strong black coffee and spreading open today’s newspaper. Eyes glued to the headlines, she tried to _read_ them instead of just blankly staring, and when it felt too tedious to absorb them, she flipped the pages to catch a glimpse of the clues to her favourite crossword. But even that couldn’t hold her attention for long, and she ended up folding the paper back and tossing it aside, her mind hijacked by visions of that stupid kiss and Jaime’s handsome face.

After about fifteen minutes of careful and intense self-introspection, she had to reluctantly agree that Sansa had a valid point. 

That she couldn’t endlessly keep hiding whenever Jaime was in the vicinity, was something that had been nagging her all night. The play was a commitment from her side, a passion she’d harboured for ages, and irrespective of her disastrous first meeting with him and the hurt she’d been nursing deep down, the show would have to go on. And perhaps, a heart-to-heart with her friend might help uncover some way for her to deal with this. Perhaps, a sumptuous lunch and some exposure to a non-workplace environment wouldn’t be a bad idea, after all.

With that being a decent motivation to wind up her usual Saturday chores, she breezed through them in the next couple of hours. Her car still out for servicing, she took the bus to Blackwater Square, where the restaurant they frequented was located in. 

Sansa took a spoonful of her soup whilst patiently waiting for her to finish with the whole _kiss_ story. “So you’re still not over him,” she opined, keenly examining Brienne’s face as if to look for signs to refute her claim. 

“I’m alright,” Brienne brushed away her concern, assuming her most normal tone. “It’s just that--”

“--the wounds of the past were dredged up again,” her friend sighed, taking her back to that fateful evening a year and a month from now.

“I was drunk that night.” Right from day one, Brienne blamed no one, but herself, for the awful misunderstanding. “And stupid.” _To assume a man like Jaime would fall for me,_ she ruefully added for herself.

“No. You were just like any other woman,” Sansa tried to console her. “Any female with a pulse would’ve swooned after the way he flirted with you that night.” Her eyes took on a dreamy shine, her food forgotten and getting cold. “The way he pulled you into his arms for a dance, the way he was looking at you--”

“Only to shatter everything I’d built up to bits the next day,” Brienne bitterly recalled, his minute-long phone call the following Sunday morning to dismiss the wonderful night as a _drunken mistake,_ which he was _sorry_ for, still raw in her mind. “‘ _Love is for fools and not men like me’_ , he'd proudly declared.” She stopped to take a bite of her chicken. “And the way he treated me after that, like an absolute stranger from then on, all of it makes me think he’d done it in full consciousness, like he wanted to pinch me and watch me suffer from the pain.”

Sansa shook her head. “He’s not a sadist, Brienne. He was just drunk, with no control over himself. Why would he deliberately get close to you and then break your heart? It doesn't make sense.”

“After months of analysis, it makes perfect sense to me,” Brienne indignantly pointed out, the belief simmering inside her. “Put off by the way I’d challenged his authority in a meeting preceding that party, he’s hated me ever since. And what better way to stamp on my feet than resorting to a mean trick like this?”

“I still feel he didn’t do it on purpose.” Sansa appeared determined to defend the stand she’d held ever since. “He’s an insensitive idiot, no doubt, and a skeptic, perhaps, when it comes to matters of the heart, but he’d never go to the extent of hurting a woman like this to avenge something that was a purely academic exchange between two matured professionals.”

“With an emotional range of a bloody droid, what would he know of hurt feelings and broken hearts?” She found it hard to believe him capable of kindness and compassion, or for that matter, anything soft, and was ready to bet her life’s savings on her theory that he’d never fallen in love, or perhaps, loved, only to be left behind at the bitter end of it.

“Have you ever tried talking to him about it?”

Brienne nearly choked on her wine, appalled by the suggestion. “I’m perfectly fine with the past lying where it is, dead and buried.”

“The kiss, or rather--” A tiny little smile appeared at the corners of Sansa’s mouth. “Your numerous _kisses_ to come are going to make things really really awkward from now on.”

“I’m guessing there won’t be too many.” This was more of her wishful thinking, a faint ray of hope in the form of Catelyn’s mostly positive feedback, she was holding on to. “It was awful,” she exaggerated, the taste of him still on her lips, “but the director sure found it convincing, the tough taskmaster that she is.”

“Mum’s inherent nature, that is.” Sansa made a face. “I pity you guys for having to put up with her headmistress's way of managing stuff. Thank the gods, I’m not a part of all the _drama_ this time.”

The women shared a smile, a welcome stress buster, and concentrated on their meal for a while, but Sansa was soon back to her old concerned self. “You can’t avoid meeting him today. How do you think--”

“I’m going to skip going there tonight.” Brienne had already made up her mind. A day off to rearrange her thoughts wouldn’t hurt the play much. 

Her friend put down her ice cream spoon to throw her a questioning glare. “And what about tomorrow?”

“I’ll be fine by then.”

+++++

The rest of the day drew to an uneventful close with a comforting dinner of pizza and a generous helping of her favourite strawberry ice cream. Contented, at least for now, Brienne snuggled into bed to binge-watch her usual show, when her phone beeped with a message alert.

**“Never thought you’d ditch me like this, wench.”**

Only then did it strike her that she’d forgotten to inform him that she’d be skiving today’s session. She waited, reading and re-reading the same thing, deliberating whether or not to answer him, when the next message came close behind the first. **“You okay? Hope you aren’t sick or something?”**

Not wanting to send out the wrong impression, she tapped on reply and was just about to type out a concise reason for staying home, when the notification of his third text jumped up in front to grab her attention. **“Can I call you if you don’t mind?”**

Now that was the last thing she wanted. The warm, comforting feeling gone, she was struck by a sensation of overpowering dread, the prospect of the herculean task of actually holding a conversation with him, crushing her inner peace to minuscule bits.

 **“I’m fine,”** she hurriedly wrote out, hoping he wouldn’t take her continued silence as a blanket consent to talk. **“Just a headache. Migraine. Am half-asleep now. Will see you at the academy tomorrow.”**

That would keep him quiet until she met him.

 **“Take care. And good night, Brienne,”** was the next one, short and sweet, and it surely meant the end of the message chain. 

Heaving a sigh of relief, Brienne put aside the phone and went back to her sitcom which had been running all along, but instead of focusing on what was going on, she found herself glancing at her phone from time to time, her mind playing his one-liners over and over again. For a man who seized every available chance to mock her, today’s initiative was oddly courteous and uncharacteristic of him. When was the last he’d bothered about her health? On the contrary, he had, once, projected her unplanned sick-leave as a reason for their slipping a deadline.

She glanced through all the four texts again, and yet again, and once more after that to make sure she’d read them properly, and every single time, she found herself stopping and pondering his last message.

_Take care…_

His words of concern, of course, called for a reply, and had it been anyone else in his place, she’d have typed out an immediate response. But with Jaime… why would she? Why should she? 

_Good night, Brienne…_

What if this wasn’t what it appeared to be? Her resentment and memories of their first meeting hitting her again, she quit the messaging app and put the phone away to return to the safe haven of her TV show.

 _But there seems to be no hidden ploy in his words this time_ , her inner voice tried to reason with her, and without realizing what she was doing, she found herself pulling open his last text again and contemplating her next action.

_To reply or not to reply..._

Her inner discipline eventually prevailed, and she ended up composing a crisp, yet polite, **“Thanks for asking.”** She held back for a brief moment, her fingers hovering over the keypad, hesitant, but then went on to add, **“Good night, Jaime.”**

After a split second’s hesitation, she hit send, and for several seconds after that, her heart thumped louder than the noisily ticking clock on her bedside table.

+++++

Sunday’s meeting with Jaime wasn’t as tortuous as Brienne had been dreading it to be, her ease of mind majorly due to their schedule that day which had them paired with other co-actors, keeping the two of them conveniently apart. Barring a quick hello and a tight-lipped smile when she entered, she barely saw him for the remainder of the two hours.

What she was treated to, and an ample dose of it when she had finished with her practice, was the stunningly gorgeous Renly Baratheon, effortlessly bringing to life his scenes with Margaery. For this alone, enduring those painful weekend hours with Jaime was worth it.

“He’s a decent actor, I really must give him that.”

Brienne wheeled around to find green eyes pelting her with question after question, an extension of his last night’s messaging spree.

“Please, you don’t have to lie just for the sake of--”

“You’re right, I only said that to boost your spirits,” Jaime readily agreed, his eyes reverting to the inexplicable resentment they seemed to have reserved solely for Renly. “He’s as wooden and bland as a chopping board. He would’ve made an appalling Romeo--”

She wearily cut him short. “I have neither the time nor the energy for this.” 

The happy bubble Renly had created inside her cruelly destroyed by Jaime’s piercing intervention, Brienne made her way to the exit, hoping he wouldn’t sting her with more of his snarky remarks.

But just as she was about to turn the doorknob, a warm hand covered hers, the touch agonizingly familiar. 

“We need to talk, wench.” With another step, he narrowed the gap between them to a lot lesser than her comfort level would permit, sandwiching her between himself and the door. “ _Now_.”

Frustrated that he still had the power to get her pulse all over the place and her mind all confused and messed up, she said, “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” her tone, polite, yet firm, as she put in all she could to avoid being melted down by those intense eyes.

“There’s a matter I need to discuss with you.” Something softened in those green eyes and in the voice that usually screamed of authority and arrogance, and gone was the infuriating smirk he usually wore. “Please.”

To oblige him or not, she couldn’t make up her mind, but his penetrating gaze was killing her, as was his grip on her hand, leaving her with a sweaty palm and a doorknob that would soon slip out of her grasp if she did nothing to break this moment.

“Brienne--”

“My hand,” she half-whispered and half-gasped, glancing down at the one in his custody.

He blinked. Was that a flicker of bashfulness in his eyes?

“Sorry,” he mumbled, jerking his hand away like he’d been inadvertently holding on to a hot potato. “I didn’t mean to--um-- do that.”

_Right. A mistake. What else could it have been?_

“I didn’t mean to start out all offensive,” he began to explain, when they had moved away from the crowd. “The sight of how much you women adore him pisses me off so much that I--”

“And yet, here you are, once again opening up an offensive loop of criticism about him,” she pointed out, tired of having her on-stage idol being picked apart by this man, out of the whole crowd of seasoned theatre audience. “Why don’t you stop this Renly-bashing and come to the point?”

“I know you’d flatly refuse if I ask you to have dinner with me, so I’m not even going to venture there, but--” Stopping mid-sentence, he looked away to the traffic in the distance, and then at his feet, as if computing something in his head or, sort of, assembling his thoughts. When he was done with whatever he was preoccupied with, he turned those ever-inquisitive eyes on her. “Can I walk you home, Brienne?”

Their volatile history told her to make a U-turn and flee, but instinct and something else held her back. This wasn’t a battle she could run away from. She had to put up with him for months to come, so what good would come from avoiding him tonight?

“But what about your car?” she wondered aloud, reminded of the last time he’d given her a ride.

Taking that as her _yes_ , he gestured in the direction of their way out. “I wanted to get some exercise today.”

“It’s a good distance,” she warned, hoping that might dissuade him.

“I’m up to it. Helps work up a good appetite.”

A blanket of quiet, no less awkward than the kiss they’d shared, wrapped around them, they made their way home. With no more than the sound of traffic to keep them company, the silence grew increasingly bothersome, getting under her skin by the time they had covered about a quarter of their way with neither of them uttering a single word.

When she could take it no more, she broke her steady pace to come to an abrupt halt. “Jaime--”

“How are you, Brienne?” he said at the same time, sounding mildly out of breath as he searched her eyes for signs of ill-health and what else, she couldn’t say.

“Good,” she said, taken aback by the sudden flash of concern. “Fine--I mean, thank you.”

“You’ve been avoiding me all last week,” he confronted her out of the blue, “and last night as well--”

“Jaime, I don’t think--”

“Hear me out, wench.” High pitched, unlike his usual controlled self, and fidgetting with his fingers, he looked like this had been troubling him for days. “About what’s been going on between us, and I don’t mean the kiss--” He stopped to wait for her reaction.

“Go on, I’m listening,” she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could.

“I’d like us to--” He paused again, as if this was sapping him of all his energy. “I’d like us to brush aside all the nastiness and start being nice to each other for a change.”

“I don’t get it.” She tried to read between the lines. “Are you apologizing?”

“No!” he cried, his eyes widening to the size of saucers. “I mean--um--maybe--” he stuttered, running his fingers through his hair, before inhaling deeply and finally admitting, “Yes.”

Brienne scanned his eyes for signs of jest, but finding no more than an earnestness to make amends for his past behaviour, she found herself bending to his white flag of peace. “I really appreciate that.”

No more to be said after that, the rest of their journey was a cake-walk, peaceful and comfortingly quiet, but strange, without his usual japes.

Brienne stepped into her gate, her chest considerably lighter than it had been for days. “Good night, Jaime.” 

“Night, Brienne.”

Jaime began walking away, but before he could disappear into the darkness, she called out, “Let’s catch up on Tuesday at 6.”

He turned to her, surprised. “What’s on Tuesday?”

“Tuesday, Thursday and Friday,” she reminded him. “Weren’t you the one who set the schedule?”

Looking confused, he approached her. “But you refused to meet me after office--”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said, wishing for tonight to be the beginning of better days to come - days blessed with a bunch of fruitful meetings with Renly and, no doubt, friction-less rehearsals with Jaime. “You were right. We do need to work on our scenes to get them in order.”

He acknowledged her invitation with a charming smile and a playful, “Your wish is my command, _my lady_.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ice between them begins to thaw... and Jaime starts to slip into an odd sort of trouble. Of course, he isn't fully ready to accept and realize he has a problem...

_She had a crush on you…_

Jaime stood at the gate, watching her disappear into the dark distance, the words haunting him, torturing him day and night, visions of the drunken night returning to keep them company.

_Love is for fools and not for men like me…_

When she was no more than a speck in the night, he turned to head home, his chest, weighed down by an oddly alien feeling, his mind, troubled like never before. Lost and out of tune with his surroundings, he mechanically trudged along, the arrogance with which he had made that declaration, pricking him after almost a year. What an insensitive idiot he’d been! That night had been his fault, through and through. He had been the one to pull her for a dance, to hold her intimately, to gaze deeply into her eyes, sending out signals he’d regret later. Worse still, was the morning following it. Lacking the tact, he had not even properly explained himself to her. He had spoken like Benedick, foolish and underestimating the power of the heart, smug that he would never be touched by emotions that struck only the weak.

Was he weak, though? And could he ever make amends for his behaviour?

He ran a thumb along his lips; he could still sense traces of her touch, her scent. Her shocked blue eyes, he couldn’t get out of his head. Alarmed by the suddenness of his move, yet reluctantly relenting to his staged affection, they frequently visited him in his dreams. 

Hells, those were eyes so enchanting, that even a man like Benedick would drown--or bury himself in them, as he would put it!

Of course, he wasn’t Benedick, so none of this meant anything. This was just a play and she was just his co-worker and co-actor. And she’d resented him all these months. To bring their equation to a level of courteous co-existence had been a daunting task. Their friendship was at a very nascent stage, so anything more than that was definitely out of question.

Not that he _wanted_ more, for sure. 

Still trapped in his web of thoughts, he walked into his gate like a zombie, and into the lobby--

“Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry,” Jaime mumbled, blinking at the shrewd eyes he least wanted to run into in his current state of mind. “I was just--”

“Lost in thoughts of her?” Bronn slyly prompted, accompanying him to the lift.

“No,” Jaime quickly lied. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d drop in for a drink. When you weren’t answering the doorbell, I came down to wait for you.”

Jaime began to suspect dubious intent in his unannounced visit. “Why didn’t you call me first instead of deciding to gatecrash like this?”

Bronn looked like he’d been accused of a crime. “Take a look at your phone, dude.” 

Scowling at this interruption of his solitude, Jaime scrolled through his phone, only to notice that it was on silent. He had missed quite a few calls and messages. “The ringer is off.” Setting it right, he went on to check further. There were five missed calls from Bronn. “I had put it on mute at the academy. Forgot to turn it back on when we left.”

Bronn now looked suspicious and curious. “ _We?_ ”

“Yeah, Brienne and I--”

“Aha, I knew it,” Bronn declared with an air of the victorious. “The session should’ve gotten over long back. So what were you two doing all this time?”

Thankfully, the lift came to a halt, and they had to get out, the break putting a dampener on Bronn’s illogical and baseless conclusions, but when they proceeded to his flat, his friend decided to continue tormenting him. “You were with her. What were you doing together with your phone on silent?”

Jaime tortured the door with his key, channeling into his task, all the frustration that was meant for his cheeky friend. “None of your business,” he snapped, pushing it open, the very next moment, realizing it was so utterly the wrong thing to say, particularly to Bronn, whose thoughts ran riot at the drop of a hat.

“ _Fucking_ , then, I’m sure,” he concluded with a smirk that made Jaime want to break his nose, “what else would be so secretive--”

“Shut up, Bronn.” As it is, he was having trouble getting his thoughts in order. He didn’t want his friend injecting unnecessary stuff into his head.

“Fine, it may not have been that,” Bronn conceded, his hands up in surrender as he sank into the sofa, “but--”

The dangerous tone of the _‘but’_ left Jaime wary, and knowing the man like the back of his palm, he braced himself for another barrage, a nightmare.

“I was right after all,” his friend went on to remark with cryptic relish. “All I advised you that day was to be nice to her. I didn’t ask you to leap into her bed--”

“I just walked her home,” Jaime hotly justified, his friend’s stubborn resolve to misinterpret his intent, unnerving him. “It was a long walk.”

“Ahaa!” Leaning back against the cushions, sitting cross-legged in an I-know-it-all posture, Bronn was enjoying himself. “Did you kiss her goodnight?”

Answering him was no solution, nor was arguing going to help. The best thing Jaime could do to let this pass was to order food for them, to pretend this conversation wasn’t happening. Ignoring his friend’s attempts at provoking him into revealing details, he picked up his phone to call his favourite fast food place--

“You have a crush on her, mate!” Bronn shouted out of the blue, startling him.

Disbelief and immediate denial, the only thoughts in his head, Jaime was eager to make himself clear, more than anything else, to avoid unsavoury office gossip. “You’re seeing things that don’t exist.”

Bronn left his comfortable seat to join him. “I’m seeing exactly what there is, bro.” He came too close for comfort, studying every minute expression, every tiny pore of his face. “I can see it in your eyes. Last year she was the one who’d lost it, and now, it’s you.”

+++++ 

The new week came by, and Jaime found himself desperately waiting for Tuesday evening. So eager, he was, to spend some productive time with Brienne, that he found it difficult to keep his attention on work, his concentration suffering frequent lapses, his mind, every now and then, shifting to her.

And when the hour finally obliged him with its arrival, he made it to their meeting place five minutes earlier, pacing and waiting, craving her company, his spirits soaring as soon as she entered. 

They decided to do one of their highly emotional scenes, which meant more opportunity for bonding with her and a lesser window for pointless squabbles.

“Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?”

Something changed in her expression, a shadow of intense emotion spreading across her eyes. “Yea, and I will weep a little longer.”

So deeply immersed, he was in them, that his mind was blank, the dialogues he had painstakingly memorized, completely out and erased. All that remained in his head were the pretty blue eyes that refused to leave him alone and Bronn’s uncomfortable assumption. That he was gazing deep into them whilst enacting some of the softer, more romantic lines with her instead of the usual banter they excelled at, wasn’t helping much.

_You have a crush on her..._

“That is absolute nonsense,” he told himself, standing up in defiance against Bronn’s surmise for the nth time since that night, “I don’t have a cru--”

“Jaime?”

Appalled that he’d spoken his mind out without a filter, he let out a hasty, “Sorry,” mentally thanking her for the interruption. Had he absentmindedly blurted out the entire thing, he would’ve had a tough time facing her, let alone explaining things. 

Brienne frowned. “You’re distracted.”

Giving up all hopes of speaking out from his memory, he picked up the script to take a peek at his lines, to get back in business. “Not anymore. Let's continue.”

Pulling himself together, he continued from where they had left off, and soon they were back in the rhythm, back and forth, their coordination remarkably better than what it was when they had started. Their chemistry had improved, and Jaime could easily note the difference. Everything from their facial expressions to their tone and the way they rendered the lines had taken a turn for the better. So much that he almost felt it was real.

“I will swear by it that you love me,” he whispered with more compassion and feeling than was expected of his hero, putting his soul into the dialogue, his mind returning to the fateful night he had danced with her and broken her heart, “and I will make him eat it that says I love you not.”

Brienne opened her mouth to respond with her next line, but abruptly shut up.

He wondered if he’d inadvertently stepped on her feet again. “What?”

“The way you just spoke those lines.” 

She looked like she had something more to say than this vague remark, but was holding back for some reason. He had to find out. Her opinion mattered to him more than reviews for his performance or anything else. “Something wrong with it?”

She shrugged his question away. “Nothing.” Glancing into her notes, she went on to her response. “Will you not eat your word?”

Thrown off track by what she was possibly thinking about him, Jaime scanned the sheet for his next piece of dialogue, but the words on the page were a blur. Her comment ringing in his ears, he couldn’t go on until she’d clearly said what she wanted to. “Oh, out with it, wench. Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, not at all. It’s just that--” she halted again, those lovely eyes buried in the page. “I’d been anticipating a bit of a hiccup with these lines. Never expected you to get through them at the first attempt.” 

“Why?”

Traces of a blush began to show up on her cheeks. “I never thought you were such a romantic. I took you to be quite the opposite, actually.”

He stepped closer. “You know nothing about me then.”

“I know enough to conclude that you’re judgemental, full of sarcasm, ever ready to grab the first chance to insult me,” she took a stab at him, her eyes, a teasing playfulness put together with a distant sadness.

Was that her not-exactly-subtle way of telling him she’d never forget, though he was forgiven? Whatever it was, it stung him, pricking right where it hurt the most. “I apologized, Brienne. And I promise it won’t happen again.”

Her smile, though guarded and not entirely open, told him she had faith in his words. “I know and I shouldn't have brought it up here. Now if we could just get on with the next part of it.”

Much to his own surprise, the words effortlessly flowed; almost as if he was possessed by Benedick’s spirit. “With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest, I love thee.”

She took a second’s pause, then referred to her papers again. “Why then, God forgive me.”

“What offense, sweet Beatrice?”

“You have stayed with me in a happy hour. I was about to protest, I loved you.” 

Jaime’s heart leaped a little at the way she articulated the _‘I loved you'._ It felt so real; like it was Brienne confessing her feelings instead of a Beatrice-Benedick fictional exchange. “And do it with all thy heart,” he prompted, waiting, with bated breath, for her next line.

“I love--” Her chin wobbling, she faltered, her fingers shaking around the script in her hand.

Hanging on with patience, he let her take her time.

“I am gone, though I am here,” she said, jumping a good many lines to her exit, leaving out the rest of her declaration hanging in the air. “There is no love in you. Nay, I pray you let me go.”

“Beatrice--”

“In faith, I will go.” She hurriedly stuffed the script into her handbag and started packing up to leave.

“Brienne, what’s wrong?”

“I have to leave, Jaime,” she excused herself, without looking at him. “It’s past our hour. Goodnight and see you--”

“Tarry, sweet Beatrice.”

Something stirring deep within him, awakening things he’d never known he could feel, he caught her wrist without caring a damn that it may not be entirely appropriate. Tossing away his script for he needed no more reference, he pulled her to him, closing the gap between them, threading his fingers in hers. “By this hand, I love thee,” he whispered, skipping to the very end of the scene.

Brienne blinked, her long blonde lashes making him forget for a second that it was Beatrice he was supposed to be courting and comforting, but within seconds, she caught up, forgetting she was in a haste to get away from him. “Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it,” she replied, mirroring his quietly soft voice and intense gaze.

“He loves her,” Jaime stated, completely taken in by his Shakespearean counterpart, of how he’d overcome his resentment for this woman and figured out he could go to any extent for her. “So much that he’d give her the world, Brienne.”

“You might be a fan of Benedick's, but you’re not entirely accurate in your analysis of his character,” she spoke up in a mild argument of his conclusion. “He hesitates, tries to reason with her before agreeing to take on Claudio at her behest.”

“But he isn’t able to resist for long.” Jaime was barely able to speak now, the warmth of her hand in his, the blanket of her breath on his face, blurring the line between Beatrice and Brienne, enveloping him in a confusing mesh of real and the play. “Think you in your soul, the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero?” Before she could respond with Beatrice’s answer, he went on to announce Benedick’s stand, his devotion in her conviction that Claudio had done her cousin wrong. “Enough, I am engaged. I will challenge him.”

Her eyes twinkling, Brienne gave him a little nod of appreciation. “Not bad.”

“He isn’t,” Jaime chipped in defensively. “He just trusts her, Brienne. And the next second, he’s ready to do anything for her. Kill his friend, even.”

“That’s quite right, though--” 

“I’ll kiss your hand, and so I leave you,” he kept going, in no mood for a debate now, and when his lips brushed her knuckles in a tender touch, Brienne turned an adorable shade of red. “Beatrice isn’t supposed to blush in this exchange, wench,” he teased, enjoying the unexpected effect he had on her.

“I’m not blushing.” The next second, she was back to her usual self, businesslike and crisp. “It’s just that these dialogues are way too mushy. I’ve never been a part of something like this before.”

“He isn’t as terrible as you take him to be, Brienne,” Jaime reiterated, not sure whether he was talking about Benedick or himself. “He can be an insensitive idiot. He shows no discretion with his words, but he does have a heart, you know--”

“But he has caused her pain in the past,” she pointed out, flashes of hurt in her eyes stabbing him with guilt and remorse.

“I’m sure he regrets it now.” Jaime hoped, she’d take the hint, that she’d let him wipe the slate clean and grant him the favour of a fresh start. “And he’s a changed man. He treasures whatever there is between them now if only she’s ready to give friendship a chance. Isn’t that the only matter of significance?” 

Pondering his explanation, she stood there, lost, gazing into his eyes.

“He despised her, criticized her, but that was all a matter of the past. Deep down--” he took a deep breath to search the bottom of his heart “--he respects and admires her now. He's ready to challenge Claudio, going merely by her word. Doesn’t that speak volumes about what he thinks of her?”

“I--” she started, but her phone rang so loudly that the magic of the moment was gone. Letting go of her hand, he let her take the call.

“Yeah, I’m just leaving,” he heard her tell the caller, her face lighting up with a smile. “I’ll see you in about an hour or so.”

“Sansa?” he asked, wanting to indirectly find out who she was making plans to meet.

“Renly.” Still smiling, she dropped the phone into her bag. “Since Margaery is on vacation, he wants me to help him with his scenes. I’ve agreed to stand in as Hero for him. We’ve decided to meet twice or thrice a week at his place--”

“Go on, then,” Jaime cut her, a horrible burning sensation spreading across his chest, eating into him, the last hour or so feeling like a dream he'd woken up from. “Why are you still here with me? Surely that’s more important--”

“Jaime,” she started to explain, his overly bitter reaction taking her by surprise. “We were just--”

Wanting to hear none of it, of how she and Renly would spend their time together, he grabbed his bag and stormed towards the door. He couldn’t stand another word of conversation about her fucking pretty boy.

“I’ll see you on Thursday at 6,” she called, just as he was about to get away.

“There’s no need to oblige me anymore,” he shot back, not bothering to mask his rage and discontent. “We are done with our sessions. Save all the time you have for your precious Renly.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torn between her confusion about Jaime and her crush on Renly, Brienne has a tough time.

“Give me your hand before this holy friar. I am your husband if you like of me.”

Swept away by his charming face, twinkling eyes, the softly deep tone in which he delivered the line, Brienne could only stand there gaping at him, awestruck and jealous that Margaery Tyrell would be the lucky recipient of these sweet words of love. But of course, this was Claudio’s line he was reciting. A brilliant demonstration of his acting. It wasn’t like Renly was in love with her or something--

“Brienne?”

“Huh?” 

Renly was staring at her, mildly worried, slightly confused. “You don’t look like you’re mentally here.”

Embarrassed, she snapped out of her daydream and tried to put on the best straight face she could, pretending she had drifted away out of fatigue and that nothing else was the matter. “Sorry,” she sheepishly acknowledged her lapse, barely able to meet his eyes, his penetrating gaze burning her to the innermost layer of her skin. “I’ve just had a difficult day at work, and quite draining--” 

She abruptly disconnected, her mind flying off to the scene she had done earlier that evening - the heartstopping few minutes she’d spent with Jaime, wondering if the side she’d seen of him was him at all. Of course, she knew better than to read more than required in his words and actions, but the way he’d held her hand, looked deep into her eyes while professing his -- no, Benedick’s love for her character went a little bit farther than Shakespeare had penned.

“Brienne?”

And again, she had to pull herself back to her present company.

“Your line,” Renly prompted, now with a dash of impatience and annoyance in his tone.

“And when I lived, I was your other wife,” she replied, injecting into their touching meeting, the anguish and joy of a woman finally united with the man of her dreams. “And when you loved, you were my other husband.”

But something didn’t feel right. While she had, at the beginning, wished she could’ve been cast as Hero for the simple silly excuse to be wooed by Renly, this just wasn’t it for her.

“Another Hero!” Renly exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with relief and happiness and guilt; all at the same time.

“None certainer. One Hero died, defiled, but I do live. And surely as I live, I am a maid.”

Renly leaned in to kiss her, just like Claudio would greet Hero’s sweet lips, and while this was a scene she’d have given an arm and a leg to be a part of ever since she’d set eyes on her handsome crush, her mind kept tossing her back to the day Jaime had kissed her.

And, as usual, when she slipped into the folly of succumbing to that memory, she found herself being dragged to that beautiful, yet woeful night of old, to his eyes, his arms, to the exact moment she'd lost her heart--no, double; two of hers for one of his.

_Breathtaking. Cruel. Ruthless..._

Despite her valiant efforts to cast him away like a sweet dream gone wrong and oust him out of her system, much to her frustration, she had come to realize that Jaime would never truly be gone forever. She had to keep trying, though. Someday, she'd have to move on, to look beyond him. After he'd made it plainly clear that he could never be bound by romantic attachments, her infatuation had begun to wither away, but with the hostility between them now almost close to none, she didn’t want her feelings to go astray and to grow to proportions she couldn’t contain. Her friendship with him, she valued, hoping that and her growing closeness to Renly would guard her from all else, keeping her safe from anything and everything negative. Rather than fretting over the past, it was wise to cherish the present.

And her present was Renly; a man she admired and adored.

“Hero is a lucky woman,” she complimented, her flattering review of his kiss earning her a bright smile.

“And you’re an absolutely marvellous actress,” he returned her courtesy, “a fantastic Beatrice who--” he wrinkled his nose in disdain “--obviously deserves a better Benedick.”

“Jaime’s fine,” she immediately jumped to his defence, although she couldn’t quite fathom the sudden switch in his mood when he left office in a huff. Miffed by his behaviour, she’d decided not to demand an explanation, attributing his sour reaction to his unhidden dislike for Renly. But this much rage and such childish tantrum at merely the mention of Renly’s reference was unwarranted, his loathing reaching a new level of unhealthy and unreasonable.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Renly went on condescendingly. “To me, he comes off as pompous, arrogant--” he paused, as if to rack his brain for better adjectives. “On second thoughts, I’ll take back my words. He’d make a perfect Benedick. It’s like the bard wrote the character with this guy in mind.”

“He’s not that bad once you get to know him,” she disagreed, slightly scathed on behalf of her friend. 

“I’ll take your word for that,” he shrugged. “Because he is yet to utter a polite word to me.”

“I used to hate him at first,” she told him, recalling their earlier days with a smile. “But when I started spending more time with him, I’ve come to look upon him as a friend--”

“Enough talk about Jaime,” Renly cut her. “I’d rather save our time together for pleasant stuff.”

“Like?”

“Dinner?” Putting on his coat, he handed her hers. “Why don’t we go out to the new fast food that’s sprung up in the next street?” he suggested, giving her one of his most charming smiles. “And after that, I can drop you home.”

Like the magical wave of a wand, Jaime, his outburst and his inexplicable resentment towards Renly immediately fled from her mind, and she decided to accept his invitation. “Sounds good.”

+++++

For the rest of the week, Brienne saw no sign of Jaime, not even on Friday. _Busy, probably,_ she assumed, trying not to attach too much importance to his determination to stay away from their scheduled practice hour. Once or twice, she was tempted to stride over to his desk and demand an explanation, but then, she decided to let it go, to give it a break for a few days. _I’m not the one who stamped my feet like a five year old and stormed away in anger,_ she reminded herself whenever an urge to seek him out and talk to him hit her. 

Of course, no meetings with Jaime meant more free time, which, in turn, resulted in more evenings with Renly, two hours a day instead of the one she usually spared. And by God's grace, it was going good. While they never stepped beyond friendship, just being in his company made her feel good. He knew how to make a woman feel like one. Talking and laughing and joking with him made her feel far younger than she was.

“You look pretty happy.”

She looked up from her coffee to see Sansa approaching her with a smile. “I am,” she brightly agreed, waving to her friend to join her for the break.

“Things improving with Jaime?”

“Sort of.” That led her to wonder how long he’d continue to avoid her - if he was keeping away from her on purpose. “But that’s not exactly the reason for my high spirits.”

Sansa leaned forward, her inquisitive eyes inviting Brienne to divulge the rest of it.

“Renly,” Brienne gushed, then went on to tell her what a wonderful time she’d been having all week.

To her surprise, Sansa didn’t appear to share her enthusiasm when she had finished. “Are you sure Renly’s the guy for you?”

Curiosity, unfortunately, not the good kind, encroached her mind, splashing water over her good mood. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Dunno,” Sansa thought aloud, drumming the table. “I never really pictured him as your type. Besides, there’s this _thing_ he supposedly has with Margaery, the stories floating around the gossip threads all over--”

“They’re just friends,” Brienne stated, lacking confidence, for it was only her deduction. 

Renly had never mentioned the existence of a girlfriend. But then, he’d never really given out any hints that he was single. All their meetings had been purely platonic and friendly, but for the little kiss which was just his character coming into play. And suddenly, the churning in her stomach returned, the horrible sensation she’d been struck down with when Jaime had called her that morning to tell her there could never be anything between them. 

“I’ve got to go,” she weakly excused herself and got up.

“Take care,” Sansa called out when she turned to leave. “And this time, try not to get too deep into it unless you're absolutely sure he feels the same,” she gently warned. “I don’t want you suffering another heartbreak.”

As if by coincidence, the same evening, Renly called, and looking forward to seeing him, Brienne eagerly answered him in the first ring. 

“Margaery’s returning today. I need to go pick her up at the airport,” he said, his cheerful tone piercing her with a generous dose of jealousy. “Tonight’s a big night for us, Brienne.” She could feel the throbbing excitement in his voice. “I’m going to take her to dinner and spill out my feelings for her--”

_Feelings for her._

Her ribs began contracting, crushing her heart. She wasn’t listening to him anymore, Sansa’s warning coming to life; a little too late, this time again. Was she so naive that she couldn’t tell friendship from something more? For the second time, she’d ended up at the wrong side of the deal, but with Renly, it was more her fault than his. She had slipped into a world of fantasies, seeing what he hadn’t shown her, and now again, like last year, she’d have to deal with the emotional consequences.

“Brienne?”

“Um--yes?” she managed, hoping she wasn’t sounding odd.

“I called you to cancel today’s appointment.”

 _Appointment_ , _not a date._

“Fine.” She tried to sound as unperturbed as she could, cheerful and happy, even, for the newfound development he’d announced. “You have fun. And good luck with her. I hope it goes off well with you guys.”

His warm voice spread across her ear. “Thanks for helping me catch up with the play, Brienne. I’ll see you at the academy tomorrow.”

After a quick “bye,” she signed off and sank back into her chair. 

Work, and thankfully loads of it, was a blessing in disguise, a constructive distraction to keep her away from pining for Renly, and when she was done for the day, she quietly left, in no state to meet or speak to anyone.

+++++

Never before had a Friday night been this miserable. Her favourite pizza wasn’t good enough to pep up her spirits, nor was a healthy dose of whiskey sufficient to dissolve the obstruction in her chest. Sip after sip, she downed, telling herself this was a passing phase, that she’d get over like she did the last time.

Her phone beeped again, for about the millionth time, and knowing she couldn’t ignore it anymore, she stole a glance to see who it was. A series of whatsapp messages, she was swamped with, all from Jaime.

**“About Tuesday. We need to talk.”**

Around ten minutes after that-

**“U free now? Can I call?”**

And a half an hour’s gap later-

 **“Pick up the phone, wench.”** Only now did she notice there were a couple of missed calls from him. He’d probably tried reaching her when she was changing or something.

 **“Call me when free,”** was the last message, indicating his frustration at the lack of response.

Checking his status, she noticed that his last seen time was about half an hour back. **“Not now,”** she typed, wanting to be alone tonight.

Her message seemed to be a trigger for him to come alive, and his status changed to online the next second. **“Why?”** came his immediate reply.

 **“Don’t feel like it. Not in the mood,”** she wrote. Her mind clouded under the intoxication, she took a few seconds to re-read it to make sure she’d picked the correct letters, then hit send.

There was a long pause where he seemed to be typing something for ages. _Are you writing a fucking essay?_ She wanted him to reply at once, to call her and comfort her. She wanted him to leave her alone. She wished for him to come here at once and keep a distance from her at the same time. So disappointed and drunk, she was, that she wasn’t even sure what she wanted anymore.

 **“What’s wrong? Upset?”** That was all it said after about a minute of lingering in the _‘Jaime is typing’_ stage.

 **“Hmm,”** she quickly replied.

**“Shall I come over?”**

**“No,”** she wrote out in panic, then hit backspace to delete it. Lonely and heartbroken, she could do with some friendly company. **“Yes, pls,”** she slowly spelt it out, taking her time with each letter. **“If you don’t mind.”**

**“Be there in a jiffy. Half an hour at the most.”**

And exactly as he’d promised, he was at her doorstep within the next thirty minutes.

“Brienne, what’s wrong?” he inquired when she led him to the sofa, the usually condescending and sarcastic emerald eyes softening in uncharacteristic concern as he scanned hers for reasons for her misery.

“It’s--” She couldn’t speak, the alcohol in her veins and the comforting presence of the man she’d once fallen head over heels for, making her lose it all, driving her emotions up to a level she couldn’t manage anymore.

“Yes?” he gently prompted, shuffling closer and laying a soothing hand on her shoulder.

She went on to relate the whole story, of how she’d been enamoured by every passing minute of her time with Renly. She gave him a detailed account of their time together, of how she’d thought his smiles meant more than friendly acquaintance. Jaime listened with rapt attention, but she could see the disgust in his eyes, his dislike and disapproval of Renly taking on an entirely different direction. She finished by admitting her mistake of reading between the lines where there was nothing at all, accepting she’d lost her heart to Renly without even trying to gauge his side of it. 

“That bastard,” he cursed, venom dripping off his voice, when she was done. “I told you he isn’t worth—”

“It wasn’t his fault,” she hastily corrected his perception, for she couldn’t blame the other person this time. “I got too close to him without bothering to check if he returned my feelings or not. I--” Words began to sway out of her control again, and she fell silent, looking away from him to face the wall, to hide the tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

“Brienne, look at me.” He tilted her face towards him. “The way that man throws his charm around, any normal woman could get carried away. It’s totally not your fault--”

“It _is_ ,” she cried, unable to hold back anymore. “It is, Jaime. I’m worthless, ugly and undesirable. Men would rather end up celibate than get close to a wench like me. I--”

“Brienne,” he tried to console her again, his deep voice like a steaming mug of cocoa on a cold winter night. “You’re drunk. That’s what’s making you talk nonsense like this--”

“You don’t understand!” Tears began pouring down her cheeks, her emotions on naked display for him. “You’ll never understand because you can have any woman you want--”

“Oh, come here,” he whispered, taking her in his arms. 

Saying no more, he just held her.

Her head on his chest, she could sense his heartbeat, her distress ebbing away with the steady rhythm she felt. He was a cozy blanket, a balm to all her pain. He also made her feel something else, his firm muscles against her soft curves, the strong arms around her, the seductively musky scent of him driving certain parts of her crazy, sending out undesirably desirable messages to the intimate depths of her.

Suddenly remembering he was the one who wanted to have a word with her, she asked, “You wanted to talk?”

“I wanted to apologise.” He sounded regretful. “I shouldn’t have walked out on you on Tuesday. I overreacted.”

“It’s okay.” To be angry or irritated with him felt petty. None of their past bitterness mattered to her anymore.

A few seconds of silence followed. Neither of them moved nor spoke another word.

“You’re neither ugly nor undesirable,” he said after a while, his voice rumbling through her body, his fingers tangled in her short curls. “You’re sweet and sexy--”

Despite her sorry mental state, she giggled into his shirt, amused at how cheesy his compliment sounded. “You’re just saying all this to lift my mood.”

Jaime held her tighter, squeezing her waist and caressing her back, his touch flooding every bit of her with heat, the sensation, exhilarating and intoxicating and so much more than that, taking her back to the night he’d danced with her. “I’m not. Now why don’t you sleep it off? You’ll be better in the morning.” 

By now it was pretty certain that sleep would take more than a bit of coaxing to oblige her. “Would you mind staying here for the night?” she asked, wanting to talk to someone tonight, to offload her heart to him. “Just as a friend, of course,” she hastily made it clear, wary of sending out the wrong signals.

She felt him exhale deeply, his warm breath rushing down her back as he took his time to reply.

“I’ll stay,” he said, then letting go of her, he looked deep into her eyes. “As a friend, obviously, because that is what you need right now more than anything else.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night unfolds. A few awkward moments. An important realization.

Jaime was overwhelmed. 

In fact, _overwhelmed_ was quite an understatement for what he was feeling right now. From the time he’d cultivated a tongue, his father’s characteristics had taken roots in him. Never one to mince words about anyone or anything he disapproved of, sarcasm and dry humour had become his second name, the end result of these traits being people staying away from him. While he had often surrounded himself with those he could call friends, none of them had really trusted him or looked up to him for comfort in their dark moments.

 _Except..._

“This is happening for the second time,” Brienne sadly told him, linking her arm in his, her alcohol downing her usual guard and nudging her to speak, for she would never have confided in him with all this had she been sober. “Last year it was--” She turned to meet his eyes, the deeply expressive oceans crying out to him. Eyes, he had ignored then, unable to gauge the depth of the emotions in them and the pain he’d left them with. Guilt-ridden and filled with remorse for his harsh behaviour, he found it a feat to sustain her gaze. “Remember that night at the party, Jaime?”

“Hmm.” Ever since Bronn had drawn his attention back to it, it had become the foremost thought in his mind. If only he could go back in time and set things right!

She withdrew her arm and slunk away to the cushions in her corner. “I had a crush on you for long after that,” she confessed in a low voice, fiddling with the edges of the covers. “That whole night I couldn’t sleep, thinking about you, dreaming of what it could blossom into. But when you called that morning--” she broke away, her voice trembling under the strain of the memory.

_I crushed your dreams to pieces, broke your heart. And for that, I’m ready to make amends in any way possible._

He shifted closer, his jeans brushing against the delicate fabric of her nightie. “I’m sorry for what I did that day,” he said, meaning it from the bottom of his heart, wishing he could revisit that dance, the sweet nothings he’d whispered in her ears, the pretty picture of a life together that he’d painted in her mind. Only this time, he’d take care not to burst her happy bubble the next morning. “I know it’s too late for an apology or an explanation but--”

“I’m over it now.” The stunningly beautiful eyes were back on his, weaving an intricate web around him, trapping him in their spell. “And I’ve been, since then, trying to move on. But--” the rest of her words ended up a heartbroken sigh and what suspiciously felt like a sob she tried to pass off as a cough.

He wrapped a friendly arm around her again. “You’re worth ten of Renly,” he said, wanting to boost her self-esteem. “You can do better than either of us.” And he wasn’t feeding her all this just to push up her confidence. She really was sweet. And sexy. While not conventionally pretty, she was devastatingly hot, the only woman in all these years to set his pulse racing despite his sustained attempts to stay unaffected by the abundance of feminine presence around him. Even now, as she sat with her head on his shoulder, upset and shaken, he couldn’t prevent his eyes from straying. While her flimsy nightgown did nothing to keep away the gorgeousness of her long, shapely legs, her flawless neck, it did everything to throw him off track, infusing his mind with thoughts, wild and vivid, taking his body unawares with sensations he wasn’t quite prepared to face. Ignoring the warning signals his brain was throwing off, he continued to stare, tempted to bury his face in the valley between those breasts, to leave stubble-burns all over her soft neck and chest, to flick his tongue across the pearly nipples whose shape he could clearly make out--

“Have you ever fallen in love, Jaime?” She was looking up at him, her eyes demanding that he come out with the truth.

The question sprang up out of the blue. “I--” he stammered, taken aback and completely at a loss for an answer. “I--”

“I know,” she assumed on his behalf. “Love is for fools and not for men like you. Just like Benedick, aren’t you?” Her words stung him, challenging him to disagree. He wanted to shout out in denial, to correct her that he’d gone through something quite unexpected, to let her know he wasn’t the Jaime of old, but before he could speak, her expression softened and she carried on, abashed. “Sorry, that was harsh. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. Everyone’s entitled to their way of life. If no romance and no relationships is yours, then who am I to criticize your stand?”

 _No romance, indeed._ And he’d been proud of himself for that. How convenient and how much easier his life had been when he’d managed to abide by his principles! But was it the convenience he ultimately wanted?

“It’s alright, Brienne. I’ve said and done far more than that to hurt you.” Keen to lighten the moment and steer her away from this give and take of apologies and the tension and discomfort of their past, he suggested, “If you’re not sleepy and up to it, why don’t we use this time to rehearse a scene or two?” 

She brightened, a smile playing the corners of her lips for the first time that night. “Sure.” Leaping off the sofa she reached to a cabinet against the wall and fished out her script from one of the drawers.

Encouraged by the change in her mood, he joined, tossing her with the first Benedick line that came to his mind. “Soft and fair, Friar. Which is Beatrice?”

“I answer to that name.” She took a step towards him just like Beatrice would, when she removed her veil on stage. “What is your will?”

“Do not you love me?” he asked, ignoring her question. That she didn’t fancy him anymore, he already knew, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“Why no, no more than reason,” she said, with a matter-of-fact, unromantic touch to her delivery, her response inflicting upon his heart, a million tiny cracks. While her character was lying to her hero, Brienne wasn’t. Of course, she didn’t love him anymore. _Friend,_ was what she’d referred to him earlier, making it known with words clearer than crystal.

“Such a game of hide-n-seek, it is, between them,” Jaime sighed, recalling his next line and the concluding banter to follow.

“Do not you love me?”

For a moment, he was blank, stumped by the question. “I--” he started to reply, but all the parts of his messed-up brain came together at once, offering their views, urging him to speak out, confusing him with their loud voices, each trying to outdo the other.

“Jaime?”

Her question was for Benedick, so why, then, did it pierce _him_ like a blade to the heart?

“Jaime?”

“Troth, no,” he mouthed, distractedly returning to the act. “No more than reason.”

She went through with her response, and although he managed to fall back in line with what was expected of his character, he couldn’t help recalling his conversation with Bronn when, as Benedick, he revealed to her that his mates had sworn she was sick with love for him.

She blushed slightly when she uncovered her side of the story, the trick her friends had played on her. “They swore you were well-nigh dead for me.”

_That is exactly the essence of what Bronn was harassing me with…_

Reeling from the sudden blow of this understanding, he skipped over the part where Hero and Claudio uncovered their respective love notes for each other. With a heart full of conflicting emotions instead of Benedick’s sass as was required for this fun-filled coming together of the lead pair, he sought her hand in marriage with a soft, “I will have thee,” conveniently leaving out the rest of it which was nothing but pretence, a blatant lie. By now, Benedick was madly in love with her and there was no way he would _take her out of pity._

“I would not deny you,” she responded with her part. Her lips parting, she blinked adorably, unleashing the charm of that enchanting gaze onto him again. “I yield upon great persuasion--”

He kissed her.

And those soft lips responded to him this time, moving pleasurably beneath his, taking in, with the same fervour, all that he had to give. Chucking his inhibitions out of the window, he shoved her against the cabinet, his body pushing into hers, his hands all over her, his mouth plundering hers with abandon. She was a magnet; and he, a helpless piece of iron, unable to keep away, unable to break free of the shackles she’d bound him with, the glorious contrast of her soft breasts and stiff nipples against his chest driving him up the wall in desperation. So out of control and aroused, he was, that he couldn’t stand it. He wanted to keep kissing her, to smudge that delicious red lipstick all around her mouth, to devour her until those sweet, full lips could bear it no more. He wanted to rip away her nightie, to feel her warm skin, to explore every inch of her with his mouth. He wanted to go down on her, to taste her soft warm core, to pleasure her, to torture her until she came, shuddering in his arms. He wanted to get his troubled, throbbing cock inside her, to fuck her hard against this very cabinet until it rattled under the stress. He wanted to take her to a new level of bliss, to hear her scream his name, to have her tremble and gasp and pant her way to a torrid orgasm. He wanted to--

_Just as a friend._

The words pounding hard into his head, he let go of her, ashamed and guilty of his lack of self-restraint. This was just a play, his character expressing his love for hers, and instead of being professional with it, he had turned it into his own lust-fest.

_But she kissed me back…_

_Only as Beatrice,_ pointed out a small voice of sanity that popped out from nowhere, urging him to nip in the bud, what was fast heading towards another disaster between them. She had made it plainly clear what she thought of him. And he couldn’t jeopardize it this time. But when he looked at her, hell threatened to break loose. He had to suppress a rising urge to kiss her all over again. Lips swollen, with a cut to decorate the lower, the left strap of her nightie far below where it was supposed to be, revealing far more of her beautiful breasts than he could survive, she was panting for breath.

When she noticed he was still gaping at her like a love struck teenager, she looked down at the paper in her hand, flustered, then patted down her gown and secured the straps back up in place. “Jaime--”

“It wasn’t meant to be this intense,” he rushed to explain before she could chastise him. “I got carried away, a bit too enthusiastic with the scene. Given that it’s the part where our romance--”

“It was my fault too,” she said weakly, her eyes glued to the script instead of at him. “I thought you were--” she paused, her cheeks taking on the deepest shade of crimson he’d seen on skin.

_You thought I was Renly._

He drew the most obvious conclusion in her mind, reading what she was unable to voice, realizing with a pang that she had not yet recovered from the heartbreak. He was here to be her emotional support, not fuel her agony instead of quenching it.

“I don’t think I can do any more scenes,” she said, still unwilling to look him in the eye. “My concentration has worn off.”

He nodded vigorously in agreement, keen to put Shakespeare out of the way for tonight. “Why don’t we--um--” he scratched his brain, wondering what best he could propose to ward off this awkward wall that had sprung up between them. “What about a movie? Your choice.”

Brienne took her time to decide, then nodded at last, and when she’d popped in a DVD of a rom-com she presumably adored and re-watched during mood-swings, they settled down on the sofa again, this time, making sure there was a gap as huge as a gulf between them. He dared not look at her again, his eyes stuck to the screen, accompanying the lead pair on their journey from hatred to friendly fondness, but his mind kept returning to his new friend, telling him the fictional characters mouthing sweet promises of love by the end of the movie had no different a beginning to their acquaintance than Brienne and himself. 

Ready to call it a night by the time the end credits began to roll by, Jaime stole a drowsy glance to his side, only to find that the wench was fast asleep, her chest rising and falling in gentle, steady breaths. Switching off the TV, he contemplated what to do next. Was he to let her sleep there undisturbed? Or would it be better to wake her up and ask her to retire to her bedroom? He stood there, watching her, deliberating his next move. In sleep, she looked so peaceful, and he had not the heart to wake her up. But he couldn’t leave her there either, crouched in an uncomfortable position that would, by morning, lead to muscle cramps.

Gathering her in his arms, he carried her to the bedroom. Surprisingly, for her height and build, she felt unbelievably light. Laying her down gently on the bed, he pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Goodnight, Brienne,” he whispered, but instead of leaving her be, he perched by her side. Taking her hand in his, he sat there for a while, his mind pulled apart in many different directions.

_Buried in thy eyes, I wish to be._

To hell with Shakespeare’s endearingly romantic lines!

_Forever, for such is a death I would welcome with open arms._

What began as just a play had ended up making a poet of _him_ , the sarcastic and dry-witted Jaime Lannister.

+++++

“Jaime!”

He woke up with a jolt to her voice, taking a few seconds to ascertain his alien sleeping arrangements. He had crashed on the sofa and judging from the lack of sensation on his right side, he’d been in the same position all night.

“I’m sorry I dozed off without showing you to the guest bedroom,” she sheepishly apologized, taking a seat beside him. “I should’ve been more hospitable--”

“You were not in the state last night for such formalities. Besides, I’m no guest, am I?”

Brienne smiled, her eyes dazzling him with their brilliance again. “Thank you.”

Why was she being this distant and official? Like the last time he’d taken the liberty, did his kiss leave a lasting impression on her this time too? “What are you thanking me for?”

“For being there.” Her voice was molten chocolate, the warmth in them, stirring in him the sensations he’d been hit with last night. “For being a friend in need.”

 _A friend._ The fuzzy feeling began to fade away, dousing him with a bucketful of ice cubes. _That’s what I’ll always be to her. But if so is my fate, then so be it._

“All that I told you last night, Jaime--” She let out a nervous laugh. “No one but Sansa knows of it--”

 _And Bronn too._ “No one else will know,” he promised, wishing he were no more a traumatic memory for her. “My lips are sealed.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t hold it against you anymore.”

“One more thing--” he hesitated, wondering whether to say it or not. “I shouldn’t have gone that far with the kiss last night--”

“It’s alright. We were rehearsing. You just did what was expected of Benedick.”

Nodding, he got up to leave. A part of him wanted to stay here forever, while another begged him to get back to the safety of his solitude. “I should probably go now,” he said, listening to the second, saner voice. To stay within the boundaries of friendship, he’d have to ensure he kept a respectable distance. He couldn’t afford more lapses like last night. Another kiss like that, and he’d crumble. If he was to maintain the fragile bond between them, he couldn’t bring himself to succumb. 

“Stay for a while,” she invited, making her way towards the kitchen. “Have a cup of coffee and some toast for breakfast--”

“I’m meeting Bronn for breakfast,” he lied, reaching for the door. “But for the time I’m with you at the academy, we spend the weekends together.”

She didn't push further. “I’ll see you in the evening then.”

With a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgement, he turned the knob. “Will you be able to get over Renly?” he asked, overcome by an involuntary fit of longing to be more than just a friend.

She smiled, the sadness and disappointment in her eyes, his answer.

When he drove home that morning, Jaime was a changed man. Bronn, the all-knowing, had been right all along, the man and his uncanny sense of perception digging into his heart and dragging out his secrets before he, himself, came to be aware of it. He had a crush on her--no, it went far deeper than that. He wanted to kiss her, make love to her, to hold her close and have something meaningful with her. Love wasn’t, perhaps, for fools after all. His ill luck or destiny’s way of punishing him - whatever he chose to call it, he was in exactly the same situation as Brienne had been a year back.

And to deal with these unrequited feelings wasn’t going to be easy. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things intensify. The denial continues. And someone decides to do something about it.

“Stop paying attention to them if it bothers you this much.”

Distracted, Brienne looked away, only to be confronted by the brilliant green eyes of the sole occupant of her mind. “I wasn’t--” She hesitated. What was she to tell him? That it wasn’t Renly she was thinking about? That the sight of Renly and Margaery together as a real life Claudio and Hero with hearts in their eyes and an absolute lack of self-control when it came to keeping their hands off each other had begun to spin off forbidden fantasies in her head?

How was she to admit to him that while it wasn't exactly easy to get Renly out of her system, things were far more complicated when it came to Jaime? 

It wasn’t Renly who’d kissed her, caressed her all over and awakened her lust last night. It wasn’t Renly who had stayed with her all night, comforting her at a time of need. How was she to tell him that she’d ended up desiring him more than the night he’d danced with her? She was slowly straying down the doomed path to failure, all her attempts to move on, biting the dust before they could even take off even an inch.

“Brienne?”

“Sorry.” Dragging her eyes off the couple, she turned to her on-stage love interest. “Let’s carry on with the scene.”

Jaime glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time to pack up. We have the day off tomorrow, so I guess I’ll be seeing you directly on Monday at work--”

“Dinner?” she interrupted, keen to stay back a while and talk to him. With their first show not far away, the rehearsals were slowly being tapered down, with just a final one scheduled next Saturday. After that, barring their brief hellos and ten-minute coffee breaks in office, she’d only be seeing him on show nights. She wanted to make the most of every meeting with him, to prolong every minute she spent in his company. 

He approached her with a serious face, his eyes, intense and locked into hers, like he was trying to make his way into the deepest, most closely guarded secrets of her mind. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“I--” She felt the blood rush to her face, the idea of an innocent meal with a friend being misinterpreted like that, never occurring to her.

As if someone had pushed a switch, his expression flipped to an exact contrast, and he burst out laughing, his original cheeky, cocky self peeking out of the considerate friend he’d been all along. “Relax, wench. I was kidding--”

“You’re impossible.” Despite rolling her eyes at his badly timed joke, she was relieved. At least she’d managed not to let slip anything dangerous.

“Sorry,” he chortled, his mirth, thankfully, dying down in the next few seconds. “I was just reminded of our first dinner.”

Brienne had to smile. How much she’d despised him then! His terrible wit had got on her nerves, the way he used to call her _Lady Disdain_ , leaving her nursing nasty headaches and horrible nightmares _._ That he'd never missed a chance to mock-flirt with her had been an exclusive reason for her ire all those initial days. “I hated you then,” she reminisced with fondness, looking back at how far they’d come since the first evening of being forced to co-exist as a romantic lead pair.

The glee was completely wiped off his face, his eyes, taking on the same strange shine again. “What about the present?”

“I like you,” she said, tossing out the first thing that came to her head without thinking.

He arched his brows. “You like me?”

She held back her response. _Like_ was, perhaps, downplaying what was currently tormenting her.

The way he continued to look into her eyes sent a shiver down her spine. But a fleeting moment later, that look was gone. He was back to his genial self when he quipped, “As a friend, of course,” replying on her behalf since she’d been pondering her answer for an unusually long time.

 _What else but his obvious stand about me?_ She nodded in affirmation. “Now shall we get going? I’m damn hungry.”

And exactly like their first doomed attempt at bonding, this time too he drove them to the pizzeria they’d dined at that night. Sharing a meal with Jaime turned out to be far more pleasurable this time, and she found herself laughing at the silliest of his jokes, admiring his handsome features when he wasn’t looking, wondering, more than once, if she’d stumble upon a man like him.

And even if she did, would she ever be able to look past him and embrace whatever her future had in store for her?

“Wench!”

Shaking herself out of this stupor, she returned to her food and the question that awaited her; one that she’d obviously missed whilst dreaming about him. “What were you saying?”

He peered across the table in curiosity and concern. “Are you alright?”

“Why? I’m fine--”

“You’ve been in a different world all evening.” Lines of distaste trespassed his forehead. “Thinking about him again?”

Glad to be handed an excuse to bury the real reason for her restlessness, she thought it wise to grab the chance. “Yeah, but I’ll be over it soon. Don’t worry.”

He looked at her for long, as if he didn’t believe her.

Keen to draw him away from this risky discussion, she dragged him back into the conversation they were supposedly engaged in. “What were you asking me?”

“I wanted to know your plans for the annual party next Friday.”

Disappointment punching her hard in the stomach, she recalled they could bring a plus-one each, and how far ahead she’d thought of it on Friday, hoping she might get a chance to rope Renly into it. “I’m not coming,” she decided, not really keen on any social gathering right now.

Jaime’s eyes refused to approve of her stand. “You don’t have to bring a date. I never bring anyone along. And I’m sure there’ll be many others like us.”

That wasn’t exactly the problem. With a date, she’d be occupied, but if she went solo, she’d only be brooding about last year’s event. The evening also meant there would be a DJ and dancing, and this time she just couldn’t--

“Be my plus-one,” he suggested out of the blue, his offer catching her unawares. “And I’ll be yours.”

“Jaime--”

“Don’t worry, it’s not a date.” The frown long gone, he wore a gentle smile. “We can go as friends.”

+++++

Sunday disappeared in a trace, the new week, hitting her with its full force before she could realize the weekend was over.

“Sooo,” Sansa drawled, a naughty half-smile dancing on her lips as she sank into the empty chair beside her. “How was your weekend?”

Brienne thought it best to play it back with a guarded response. “As good as any other.”

“You’re not being entirely truthful!” Sansa shrilly exclaimed, her voice vibrating with excitement. Lowering her volume and making sure they weren’t overheard, she went on, “I know Jaime stayed the night with you on Friday--”

“It wasn’t like that,” Brienne leapt up into an explanation, appalled that her best friend would jump into such ridiculous conclusions. “I was upset because of Renly and Margaery. And drunk. He just came over to talk.”

“What else did you do?”

“We did a few scenes and--” Brienne broke off, unable to stop the rush of warmth to her cheeks, her eyes darting to the table instead of holding her friend’s gaze.

“What is it?” Sansa’s tone was more urgent, somewhat frantic. “Something happened that night. Something you don’t want to tell me--”

“He’s just a friend--”

“So says the man, as well,” said another awfully familiar voice to her left. Brienne looked up to see Bronn smirking down at her like she’d been caught red-handed doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “And I’m sure he’s been lying to me. What was he doing all night with you, Brienne?” he demanded, joining Sansa in tormenting her.

Outnumbered, Brienne knew it was wise to be vague and get the hell out of there. “Nothing.”

“You’re going to the party with him,” Sansa guessed, excited on her behalf. 

Why did she make it sound like it was something shady? “Yeah, but only as friends--”

“Is that the term you kid yourselves with?” Bronn was clearly here to have fun at her expense.

“Enough. I need to get back,” she snapped, wary of their intrusion.

Even if there had been something between her and Jaime, these two had no business pestering her until she thought it fit to tell them. And by no means did she owe them a justification. Giving neither a chance to question her further, she picked up her coffee mug and left in a huff.

+++++

“Done,” she announced, stepping out of her bedroom once fully dressed and made-up. “I’m ready to leave.”

Jaime turned to look at her, his eyes wandering up and down her body, and, for a moment, imagining them to be his fingers instead of his gaze, she shivered, a million mini-tremors rippling through her body. “You look lovely,” he breathed. “I'm sure you'll gain at least one admirer tonight.”

“I think you can stop exaggerating now,” she shrugged away his compliment with a smile.

“I’m not.”

But she didn’t entirely believe him. “Come on now. We’re already late.”

For most of the short drive they were both silent, Brienne, mostly because she was apprehensive about what the night might have in store for her. When it came to such parties and social occasions, luck barely ever favoured her.

“What if it was me instead of him, Brienne?”

Confused by the lack of context, she glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “What?”

“If you had never gotten over your feelings for me,” he began, taking her along an imaginary mental tour. “If you had never met Renly and if I too had fallen in love with you, what would you have done?”

This was just his dislike for Renly speaking. He was unable to stomach the idea of her infatuation. Left to him, he’d pair her up with anyone but the handsome Baratheon. “Let’s not get into a hypothetical situation.” 

Stubborn and unconvinced, he refused to leave it at that. “But--”

“We’ve reached,” she pointed to the large gate ahead of them, glad to be rescued by their destination.

Once inside, they were surrounded by a sea of people, known and unknown. Jaime was ushered away by people unknown to her, and before she could start looking for her pals, Sansa was by her side. “Come and shake a leg with us,” she insisted, taking her arm.

“Nope,” Brienne categorically refused. This wasn’t something she’d allow herself to be dragged into. “I can’t dance and I’m not interested--”

“Of course, you’re interested.” Jaime, who had slipped away for a few minutes to mingle with his friends, had materialised out of nowhere by her side. “Come along, Brienne,” he coaxed in a tone that screamed he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and taking her by the hand, he led her to where the action was.

She wanted to break free and return to safety. She wished she could lie, cite some excuse, anything, and just get away from there, but her legs refused to obey her, reflexively following the man who had now taken over every inch, every nook and corner of her mind. Before she could stop herself, she began swaying to the music, with him, with Sansa and Bronn and a few others, setting aside her two left feet for the time being, mixing with the crowd and deciding to have fun.

After sometime when the music slowed down to a romantic beat and the lights dimmed down further, most people cleared away, barring the ones who were actual couples. And they'd shut themselves up their own worlds of intimacy, their arms wrapped around one another, chests pressed together, eyes locked in combats of passion. 

“Let’s go have something to eat, Jaime.” Out of place in what felt like a lovers’ paradise, Brienne tried to slink away, but he pulled her back, enclosing her in his arms.

Her heart forgetting to beat for one tiny instant, she caught his eyes. It was happening all over again. But this time, there was no sign of casual flirtation in his eyes, no hint of arrogance, not even the slightest trace of the superiority complex of old. Nor was he drunk beyond control. Tonight, it felt different. _He_ felt different. It was like the spotlight was on them, the world around narrowed down to just the two of them, everything else diminishing out of existence.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his lips brushing her earlobe, his stubble, when it grazed her skin, leaving her tingling and twitching. “I won’t hurt you this time.”

They moved to the rhythm in perfect synchronization; and she felt herself being dragged deeper and deeper into his eyes, to places in her mind she’d never been to before. She took in the achingly handsome man before her, his chiselled jaw, the not-exactly-perfect, yet sexy nose, the mouth that had driven her insane. She yearned for more of him, _all_ of him. She wanted him to kiss her again, to get his hands all over her, to hold her, to make love to her and show her what it felt like to be a woman, to--

_Love is for fools and not for men like me._

She froze in his arms. If she didn’t put an end to it right now, she’d end up banging her fist on a closed door, for his world had no room for women or love.

“What’s wrong, wench?” 

“I’m feeling ill,” she lied, jerking out of his grasp. “Need to get back home.”

Anxiety spreading over his keen and curious eyes, he offered, “I’ll drop you home. We can see a doctor on the way--”

“No,” she turned him down, stronger than she’d intended to. “I mean, Sansa was planning to get back early. I’ll go with her. It’s nothing that can’t be taken care of with a painkiller.”

He answered her with a frown and a heavy sigh. “Have I upset you?”

“No,” she said, immediately putting his doubt to rest. “I’ll--I’ll call you later. Bye, Jaime.”

When she headed off to find Sansa in the crowd, she made up her mind to see as little of Jaime as possible.

It was a crush, no more, her feelings for him and the flames of desire within her flaring up to an extent she’d never thought was possible. If she had to keep away from another heartbreak, she’d have to tread very very carefully.

And spending more time than necessary with Jaime was far from being cautious.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Bronn watched his friend dreamily gaze at the puffs of steam rising from his cup, drowning his fuckin’ problem in a cup of coffee instead of finding a fitting solution to it. “Are you going to tell her or not?”

Jaime looked up, blinking like a smitten puppy. “Tell her what?”

 _Idiot,_ Bronn cursed him in his mind, shaking his head at the pathetic sight in front of him. “That you love her,” he barked, in the plainest, politest tone he could manage.

Jaime stared into his beverage as if searching for something in its depths, his woman’s face, perhaps, before he shamelessly bluffed, “I don’t love her.”

Having borne witness to enough of his self-inflicted nonsense, Bronn thumped his fist on the table. “You’re the biggest lying cunt, you know that? After the way you danced with her that night--”

“It was a mistake,” Jaime grunted, punctuating his admittance with another sip. “I shouldn’t have gotten that close. No wonder she walked out on me citing the first silly excuse that came to her head.”

“Or maybe,” Bronn fumed, rapidly losing his patience, “she was just upset you didn’t get closer than that. It’s been two weeks since the party. Did you two even talk about it?”

“I’m going nowhere near that subject,” Jaime vehemently put down his suggestion. “I don’t want to hurt her any more than what she’s going through.”

“Which is...?” Bronn waited.

“She’s unable to get over Renly,” Jaime lamented, taking refuge in more of the coffee. “Ever since he got together with Margaery, she's been gazing at him during the rehearsals, pained and jealous that it was another woman in his arms.”

Bronn was amazed at the height of his reluctance to act. “And you never bothered to take advantage of Renly’s noble deed? It was a golden opportunity to step up and be her knight in shining armour.”

Jaime looked scandalized for a second, as if he’d been asked to do something inappropriate with her.

“Well?” Bronn prodded on, hoping he might see sense.

“Renly broke up with Margaery this morning.” Jaime leaned back into his chair. “Which means, there’s still a chance Brienne and he can--” He let out a deep breath. “The man’s firmly etched himself in her heart--”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Bronn exclaimed. “If I were you, I’d have been married to her. We might even have conceived our first kid by now.”

Jaime straightened, his expression clearing. “She got too close to me once only to be badly stung. She’s never going to look in that direction again,” he firmly asserted, as if he could read her mind and predict her decisions. “I’m her friend. And that’s what I intend to be. I cannot, for anything in this world, give up what I have with her. If Renly were to come back into her life and if it makes her happy, I’d be happy for her.”

Finishing off his last few sips, he dashed off, leaving Bronn alone at the table, nursing the after-effect of his stupid declaration. “Can’t you see it, you idiot?” he muttered after his friend. “ _You_ would make her happy. And she--”

“What did you do to offend him?” Smiling, Sansa took the chair Jaime had left vacant. “He barely even said hello to me.”

“Did you happen to notice those two at the party?” he said, compelled to vent out his vexation, to let it out to someone. “Locked in an intimate embrace, their eyes, arms, bodies latched on to one another in a close slow dance, oblivious to the goings-on around them, what would you call them?”

“Lovers,” she spontaneously caught his point, thinking alike.

“Exactly! But have you ever seen such dumbbrains before? They don’t want to admit it and be happy, for fuck’s sake.”

“They do appear to be head over heels in love,” she mused, her tone echoing his frustration. “While I’m quite certain about her feelings, I don’t want to get my hopes too high unless I’m absolutely sure this time he’s equally in it. She’s been through a lot last year, and even recently she’s had a tough time getting over Renly--”

“Speaking of the pretty cunt,” he said, mulling over the bit Jaime had been whining about. “Jaime was saying he’s broken up with his girl.”

“That’s what I heard. They couldn’t sustain for more than a couple of weeks.”

Bronn smiled, a fantastic idea beginning to cook in his head. It was a bit crooked, no doubt, by Brienne’s standards, at least, but had an amazing potential to meet success.

“What are you so happy about?” Sansa scolded, a scowl distorting her pretty features. “This means he’s free to pursue Brienne and that--”

“This also means it’s time for us to step in and help out our reluctant lovebirds,” he explained, “because without a push or a nudge, neither’s gonna act on it. They’ll only keep pining away in secrecy all their life.”

She brightened at the prospect. “You mean like Beatrice and Benedick’s friends helped them out?” 

“Aye. Before that Renly gets a chance to make a move on her, we’ve got to do something about it.”

“The show is in two days. This Saturday,” she thought aloud. “So--”

“The same night, then.” Bronn grinned wider. It all began to fit. “After the show.” With relish, he began to elaborate what he had in mind, what, according to him, was the perfect plan to bring together their unsuspecting friends.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The play unfolds, so does Sansa and Bronn's ploy.

“Brienne.”

Butterflies whizzing left and right across her stomach, she turned to meet her hero. Handsome and dashing, he looked like a prince straight out of a fairy tale, every girl’s dream man. It was like the costume had been designed with Jaime in mind. And exactly like in their dress rehearsal, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “You look good,” she expressed her admiration.

He came closer, taking her in with the same appreciative look on his face. “There’s her cousin,” he began to softly recite, his tone lower than usual, deeper, miles away from the brash character he portrayed, “an were she not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.”

A warm flush creeping up her neck at his compliment, she tried her best to mask it, chuckling at his choice of dialogue. “I thought we’re friends. You still think I’m ill-tempered?”

He thought for a second. “That you still are, _my lady_ ,” he replied with a naughty smile minus the cocky arrogance he’d displayed when he’d called her _his lady_ the last time, “but not so unbearable as you were when we began this journey.”

There was no dispute about that. “We’ve come a long way.” _I wish we could’ve gone on further and ended this journey at a satisfying destination,_ she mentally added, gulping down a sigh. 

For a minute Brienne hoped would never come to an end, they stood there like the room belonged to none but them.

Until Jaime had the good sense to glance at his watch. “It’s almost time.”

The growing proximity to what could be termed as the biggest public appearance of her life took her to a new level of nervousness. While she had faced crowds before, she’d never stood before one this huge. Conferences, she was good at leading and presenting at, but this was a completely different game. Adding to her woes was her constantly disturbed mind. To keep away from Jaime, she’d concluded, was the best road to recovery, but every time she went without a day of seeing or talking to him, she found herself picking up her phone to text or talk to him under some pretext or the other.

The show opened to a completely packed auditorium, and when her turn came to face them all and speak her first lines, she was transported to a different world; an imagination where he could be her Benedick and they could set aside their differences and live happily ever after. 

Every time she was on stage - with the messenger to begin with, followed by Leonato or Hero or anyone else, while she did perform the scene with the fluid eloquence they had built over the weeks of rehearsals, a good part of her mind started to stray, waiting, counting every second, calculating how long it would be until she and Jaime could share the stage.

When the moment came, it felt like magic. It didn’t matter that she started by insulting him, nor did the fact that he was a personification of spite when he condescendingly called her Lady Disdain.

“You always end with a jade’s trick,” she accused him, bringing their first explosive encounter to a close. “I know you of old.”

 _But I’ve also come to know you better now, and you’re not the same anymore,_ she went on with her eyes long after when she’d withdrawn, watching him go on with the scene with his companions, _and I wish--_

“Are you okay, Brienne?” It was Margaery frantically hissing in her ear from behind. “You’re distracted.”

Brienne tore her eyes off Jaime who was busy with Claudio and Don Pedro. “Y--yeah. I’m fine.” And she’d better make sure she was, and not swoon every fucking time Jaime looked at her or spoke a word or two to her. This was risky. If she didn’t want to ruin the fruit of their efforts, she couldn’t afford such lapses.

The play went on, uncovering the heart of its plot, bringing to their audience the peak of her back and forth banter with Benedick, Claudio and Hero’s wedding plans, Don Jon’s malicious plan to ruin Hero’s reputation. Brienne kept a close watch on Jaime’s face when he did the scene where his friends lied about Beatrice losing her heart to him, studying every twitch, every blink of his eye very very carefully when he eavesdropped on his mates. 

And when she came upon the part where Ursula and Hero discussed Benedick’s undying love for her behind her back, she found herself subconsciously wishing it was Jaime they were talking about. “And Benedick, love on,” she said to herself and the crowd, her heart pounding loudly when she very nearly slipped in _Jaime,_ accidentally, in place of Benedick. “I will requite thee.” 

Once she’d sailed through the rest of the lines without an audible hitch, she slipped into the background, relieved. The drama of Hero’s supposed unfaithfulness unfolded, and Brienne found herself looking forward to, yet dreading the next part, for that scene had marked the end of the hostility between her and Jaime and the beginning of whatever there was between them now. 

When they had the stage to themselves, when Jaime’s love-lorn eyes were gazing upon her like she was something he’d cherish and protect all his life, it felt like none of this was an act.

And when Jaime looked into her eyes and professed, “I love thee,” she was on cloud nine. 

_This is just a play,_ she reminded herself, calming down her nerves to ease away the effect that lingered long after the scene was over.

 _That isn’t Jaime, but Benedick._ She had to draw a thick distinct line demarcating her friend and the character he played.

_Benedick loves Beatrice. In a fucking story. This isn’t about Jaime and me._

But when Jaime, later, playfully declared _he’d die in her lap and be_ _buried in her eyes,_ she was floored, the butterflies were back to torment her, bothering her for long after she was done with the scene.

“You okay?”

Tearing her attention off the ongoing scene, Brienne found herself looking into Catelyn Stark’s appraising eyes. “Um--yeah.”

The director gave her a satisfied smile. “That was a wonderful performance so far. I must say I never really expected you and Jaime to get on so well. Your chemistry is perfect. It feels so real.”

All Brienne could manage was a weak, “Thank you.”

“Well,” Catelyn sighed when the last scene was upon them, “we’re almost at the end now. On you go,” she hastily urged, “and finish it with a bang.”

The wedding, the unveiling of the actual bride, Claudio’s tearful apology to Hero, their sweetly emotional union - all of this, she was a silent witness to, unmasking her face only when Benedick uttered her name and sought her presence.

“Do not you love me?”

 _Yes,_ she wanted to say, _for more than a year. Not Renly. No one else._ “Why no, no more than reason,” she replied, with difficulty, sticking to what she was supposed to say.

“They swore you were almost sick for me,” he went on, confronting Beatrice or Brienne, she wasn’t sure.

 _Yes, I am. And I don’t know what to do about it._ “They swore you were well-nigh dead for me,” she rallied with her retort, instead.

On they went, demanding the other confess, denying their heart’s calling, every word, piercing her sharper than Benedick’s sword-tip. If just the first iteration of the show could have this telling an effect on her, what would she do when she had to repeatedly play out these scenes with him?

“Peace! I will stop your mouth.”

When he kissed her this time, the world around her swayed and shook. She felt, again, the rush of helplessness, a fervent urgent need nothing but his touch could quench. None of this was happening, none of it seemed real, except his lips, the taste of him. He got more intense, teasing her, nudging her mouth open, and she found herself kissing him back, her giddiness, taking her down, the ache to get more of him far greater than any other sensation.

They pulled away, yet stood there, lost in each other as one.

 _Benedick,_ she forced herself to accept, her heart sinking to a new low, _not Jaime._

+++++

Accolades kept pouring in at the celebratory dinner the academy had organized for them, and while Brienne, with gratitude, modesty and courtesy, accepted whatever came her way, her mind was not in it. Every few minutes, her eyes darted to the entrance as if hoping he might make an appearance any second.

“Hey.” Renly took the chair next to her, diverting her attention. “That was absolutely brilliant,” he gushed, his smile oozing warmth and charm. “I told you you’d make a wonderful Beatrice.”

“Thank you.” For the first time in her life, she wanted him to leave her to herself. She craved for someone else’s company instead of the man she’d been mooning after for weeks. “You were amazing too,” she returned the compliment. And expecting it to put an end to their conversation, she found herself scanning the hall for Jaime again. Where the hell was he? A brief acknowledgement of their collective achievement were the only words they’d exchanged after the show, because with the dinner scheduled closely after and the lack of privacy, they couldn’t afford anything more than that. 

“If you don't mind me asking,” Renly pushed himself into her thoughts again, “are you and Jaime together?”

Brienne choked on her food, the result being a violent bout of coughing. “What made you assume that?” 

He tossed her an expression of distaste. “When I came to talk to you after the show he looked at me as if he’d want to skin me alive. It appeared as if he couldn’t stomach the sight of me being around you.”

She forced a laugh. “That’s nothing. It’s only because--” _he can’t stand you_ “--he doesn’t see eye to eye with you,” she put it in words softer than Jaime’s actual feelings for him.

Renly brightened at her response. “If you’re still unattached, will you come have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

There it was, the moment she’d dreamt of since the start of rehearsals, but all she could do now was wish this was Jaime asking her out instead of him.

“Brienne?”

“I--I can’t, I’m sorry,” she politely declined. 

His smile faded. “So you really do have a thing for your arrogant Benedick.”

The best way out was to feign ignorance. “What do you mean?”

He got up. “Nothing. Goodnight, Brienne.”

When Jaime didn’t turn up for the next half an hour, Brienne thought it best to excuse herself and leave. Not really cut out for parties and celebration, a hot cup of cocoa and a good night’s sleep was all she craved after a fruitful, yet tiring evening. She drove home, her head buzzing so madly that she feared it might explode. Why did Jaime skip the party without even calling or texting her? She pulled out her phone to contact him, but held back on an afterthought. Was he avoiding her on purpose?

Her mind crowded by a gang of _would-it-bes_ and _could-it-bes_ by the time she reached home, she mechanically went through the task of changing into her night clothes. Just as she was about to treat herself to a warm drink, the doorbell announced the presence of an untimely visitor.

“What’s wrong?” Brienne anxiously asked, surprised to see her friend at this hour. Sansa usually called when she wanted to talk instead of barging in unannounced.

As soon as they settled down on the sofa, her friend rounded in on her with _that_ look in her eyes, and Brienne immediately knew she was in for a lecture. “Who are you kidding, Brienne?”

“I don’t--”

“You and Jaime.” Her arms folded to her chest in determination, her eyes demanded answers. “What the hell’s going on with you two?”

“I don’t really understand--” Brienne started off with her usual denial, except that it was a futile exercise with Sansa butting into her explanation before she could finish.

“Cowards!” she stormed. “You can’t face your hearts, both of you. Here you are, hiding in your solitude and there he is, assuming getting away from you will get you out of his mind.”

Ignoring the harsh words, Brienne picked up the important bit. “Getting away from me? What do you mean?”

Frown lines were all over her young friend’s forehead. “Didn’t he tell you?”

Her restlessness mounting, Brienne shook her head.

“Soon after the play has done its rounds, Jaime has decided to resign and move to Casterly Rock,” Sansa told her, her eyes shooting sparks. “To take over his father’s business.”

Brienne felt like a tonne-heavy stone had been dropped into her stomach. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, unable to picture a life away from him. “He loves his job, loves this city--”

“And he loves you,” Sansa supplied the rest, her words leaving Brienne clutching the edge of the cushion. 

“It can’t be,” Brienne mumbled, wanting to believe her friend, yet knowing it wasn’t possible considering Jaime’s outlook on romance and commitment. “He doesn’t believe in love, he told me so himself--”

“Well, he’s changed then,” Sansa shrugged. “That’s why he wants to go away. He thinks after what he did last year, you’ll never look at him like that again, never consider him worthy--”

“He’s wrong,” Brienne interrupted, this new development springing up a riot of emotions inside her. “And he’s an idiot if he thinks that of me.”

“Then tell him that,” urged her friend, softening at her confession. “Tell him--”

The doorbell chimed again, and whatever advice Sansa had, remained in her mind when she got up to check on their visitor. “Here he is,” she announced, opening the door to let him in. “I think it's time you continued this conversation with him.”

Dumbstruck at his unexpected presence, Brienne ambled towards them. “Jaime, wh--what are you--”

“I came to talk,” he said, looking troubled and agitated. “I didn’t want to wait till tomorrow or call to check if I could come over. I didn’t want to waste time.”

Sansa broke into a smile. “I’d rather leave you both to it. Goodnight, you two.” Giving Brienne a slight nod of encouragement, she stepped out and shut the door behind her.

Despite the newly acquired knowledge of his feelings for her, Brienne glared at him. “Let me guess,” she pounced on him. “You came here to bid me goodbye.”

Her anger was greeted with confusion. “Goodbye?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake stop it,” she continued to attack him. “If it helps, I already know.”

“Know what?” he asked, traces of anger coating his incomprehension.

“That you’re trying to avoid me. That--” she had to take in a long breath “that you’re planning to give up this job, this city, this life, your friends--”

His eyes were thin slits, the brilliant green in them, scarcely visible. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re leaving King’s Landing because you don’t want to hurt me again,” she cried, her voice quivering from the effort and the emotional strain. “That’s what I’m talking about--”

“Why would I want to run away for any reason at all?” he thought aloud. “And why the fuck do you think I’m worried about hurting you again? That's never going to happen--”

“Because you love me,” she quietly repeated Sansa’s words, blood rushing to her cheeks. “Because--”

“Wait.” He rubbed his forehead. “What made you jump to this conclusion? I came here to give you a piece of my mind, to tell you that you’re making a big mistake with Renly--”

“Renly?” Distracted, she left her thread loose in the air, wanting to find out more about this accusation he was pinning her with. “What mistake?”

“If you don’t want to acknowledge it’s a mistake, that’s fine with me, but don’t pretend to be ignorant,” he snapped, his eyes naked with revulsion for Renly. Something more, she could pick up in them, a dash of disappointment, a whole load of jealousy and disapproval.

“Acknowledge what?”

He stormed into her personal space, his face less than a foot from hers. “You agreed to go out with Renly. And I know why. But that’s not the solution, wench.”

It was her turn to be bewildered. “I’m not with Renly. He asked me, yes, but I turned him down. Gods only know why such a thing even occurred to you.”

“Bronn told me that Sansa told him you still aren’t over your feelings for me. And to bury it away, as soon as Renly expressed his interest after the show, you immediately jumped into it. I came here to tell you that I-- Hang on a sec.” He halted, his eyes widening, as though he’d hit upon a wave of enlightenment. “Who fed you with this whole story about me wanting to run away to Casterly Rock?”

“Sansa.”

“I should’ve guessed it the moment I saw her here.” Jaime shook his head, slowly, then vigorously, his lips curving in a half-smile. “We’ve been taken for a ride by our friends. Even after weeks of playing Benedick and Beatrice, we’ve been so absentminded that we failed to realize it. We fell into their fucking trap. I took my crafty friend's sly little plan seriously and came all the way to confront you with a story--”

“Story, huh?” So all this was a terrible lie, a childish prank their friends had played to get them both together. Jaime was not in love with her. He’d only come here to vent out his hatred for Renly. But her feelings were far from trivial, and she couldn’t let him or anyone else trample them down. “If you think this is all a big joke and nothing else--”

“Brienne--”

“Shut up! Just--just for a second, keep quiet, Jaime.” She was trembling all over, her voice, choked, her chest, aching from all she was going through. “Sansa might have lied to me about you, but Bronn was painfully correct about one thing.” 

“Let me finish, wench--”

But she couldn’t. He had to hear her out. “I wasn’t able to get over you, Jaime, and I don’t think I ever can--” Now that she had come this far, she couldn’t get past without baring her soul to him, whatever be the consequences. Even if he swore never to see her again after this. “Every single moment I played Beatrice to your Benedick has been a testing time. Every time you kissed me, I’ve been through heaven and hell, both at the same time.” 

“Brienne, let me--”

“Let me finish first.” The floodgates now open, Brienne could feel her emotions gushing out. “Every fucking time, Jaime,” she went on, weak and drained, “I’ve had to remind myself that it's Benedick reciting those romantic lines, not you, that you would never return my feelings--”

“Enough now, Brienne.” His eyes were fiery and intense, binding her, imprisoning her. “My turn.”

“I'm not done--”

But before she could go on this time, Jaime stopped her mouth with a kiss.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the change in rating.

Jaime lost it the moment she pulled him closer, her arms around his neck, her mouth responding to his like she was made to kiss him. 

Fuck, this was actually happening! For real, this time, not under the guise of a scene he had to rehearse with her. This was not him pretending to be Benedick. This wasn’t her hiding under a fictitious name. 

He was with Brienne. And he could sense the same desperation, the same heightened thirst in her.

Pushing her up against the desk behind her, he wore her in a tight embrace, letting his hands slide up her sides, tracing her sexy curves to meet her bare shoulders, suffering the sweet agony of her smooth skin burning into his. He could feel her shivers of excitement become one with him when he made for her breasts, sense her demanding moan disappearing into his mouth when he tugged at her nipple. He wanted to cave in to the silent possessiveness when she gripped him tightly, holding on to him as if he was hers for life. He wanted to show her, in every possible way he could, that Sansa had inadvertently fed her the truth. 

It wasn’t Renly. She had turned down the pretty boy. It was him, she’d been yearning for, just like he did for her. And he would take his time with her. Let her feel every bit of him.

He tempered down the kiss, massaging her lips with his, gently, sensually, his tongue caressing hers. His heart pounding, he pressed into her, the musky vanilla mixed sweaty scent of her filling his nerves, his senses, taking control of his body and mind. Immersed in each other, they slipped into a slow dance, an excruciating pace, kissing, drawing away and then groping each other to kiss again, a whimper escaping her every time he breached her lips, telling him her need for him was as much as his. But not for long, their measured kisses lasted, desire taking over, passion driving them to the edge of their patience. She punished him with wildly aggressive thrusts of her tongue, and he could feel the fire in her, her helplessness, her nipples turning into pebbles in his fingers when he prodded, pinched and tortured them over the apology of a dress that covered them. It was the same fucking nightie she’s been wearing that night. No bra beneath it. No barrier to keep him away. He caressed and stroked her, and she returned the favour, her hands all over him, exploring his chest, crawling around his shoulders to his back as she pushed her body against his, grinding her hips into his bulge, pressing her soft breasts further into his firm muscles. 

Her wanton gasps and throaty noises told him she wanted him there and then. But before that, they had to talk. He had to tell her, to make it known.

“That was--” she gasped when he’d pulled away, blue eyes striking his with a dreamy gaze, her kiss-swollen lips shaping up into a lazy smile. “That was--”

“--not Benedick, but _me_.”

She brought her palm to his chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, her intense eyes demanding he give her what was hers. “Jaime--”

“My turn,” he gently cut her, planting a tender kiss at the corner of her twitching mouth. “Last year was a big fucking mistake, wench,” he admitted, his lips tracing a path across her cheek. “Something I realized only after Bronn happened to point it out.”

“Jaime, I--”

“I’m not done yet.” He bent to nuzzle her neck, rubbing his cheek back and forth her soft skin, his pleasure and arousal mounting as he watched her break out into attractive pinkish-red patches. “Our friends were right, Brienne.” He buried his face between her breasts, taking in her sweet smell, leaving tender kisses and little bites on her sensitive skin. “I am well-nigh dead for you.” He pulled back to let himself be drawn into those beautiful eyes. “I’d rather be buried in your eyes than rest someplace else, my lady,” he recited, suddenly the lines sounding ten times sweeter than they ever had.

Giggling, she playfully fiddled with his shirt buttons. “Never thought you were such a romantic.”

“Never had the chance to be one until now.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “All it took was a play and a certain wench to make me realize I’m not the Jaime of old. And--” he took a deep breath before he could bring himself to say the familiar words, this time as himself instead of Benedick, freely and happily and with a fervent urge to give himself to her “--I love thee.”

She stopped smiling. “Jaime--”

“I do, Brienne.” He grazed her lips with a feathery kiss. “I have, for a year. Just that I needed the Renly irritation and this push to drive me to face the truth.”

“Renly was a subconscious excuse and nothing else.” Her eyes were bright. He could sense her lips tremble beneath his touch. He could feel the air around them crackle with sparks of tension. “It was always you, Jaime, ever since that night you pulled me in for a dance, though I tried very hard to get you out of my--”

“I’m sorry for hurting you. And I swear such a thing won’t happen again.” He’d never break her heart again. “I do requite thee--”

“Oh, stop quoting the bard for everything--”

“I won’t.” He teased the straps of her gown, eager to get it off, to get his mouth to her skin. “I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap--”

“Do it then,” she intervened, the heat in her gaze threatening to scorch him, her palm dropping to his crotch to caress the growing ache in his jeans. “Die in my lap.” 

Standing between her spread legs, he renewed their connection, bringing their mouths together again, soft sweet kisses, within the blink of an eye, transitioning into a furious battle of lust. He could kiss her for hours. Many hours. For days together. She pulled him close, his hard body fusing with her soft curves, the heat from her core radiating into his thighs. He shifted his hips, and when the hardness of his dick pressed into her skin, she shuddered in his arms.

She broke away, her eyes blazing with urgency, then slid her hands down to undo his shirt, ripping away the buttons and prying open the obstructing garment. Her fingers skimmed across his chest, slowly, agonizingly, and when she paused every few seconds to play with his bare skin, to torture the streak of hair that ran down his front, the tingling that jolted his spine, the pit of his stomach, his-- _everywhere_ , started to drive him wild. 

If she went on like this he’d come apart before he could even begin. 

He wrenched her away, then pulled her back into his arms, a bit aggressively, his lust kicking in with a mad surge. Her body was tight, yet curvy and wonderfully pliant in all the right places, the flimsy piece of clothing doing nothing to conceal her sexy gorgeousness. He began to kiss her again, and she opened her lips, inviting him, readying him for another tempestuous and delightful experience. He sucked on her tongue and she on his, their bodies tensing against each other, each challenging the other to push them to their limits. 

Driven to a point where he could take it no more, he broke the kiss. “I want to see you, Brienne,” he rasped, tugging down at her straps. “I want to feast my eyes on your beauty, to touch, to kiss you all over.” Showing no mercy, he yanked down the straps and dragged the sweat-covered gown down her hips, letting it fall into a crumpled pool at her feet. “I want your naked body under mine,” he said, his voice getting huskier as he peeled away her damp panties. He took a moment to take in her gorgeous breasts, her slender waist and shapely hips. “I want to--” Words were lost in his head, unable to find their way out when he dropped his gaze to her crotch.

But she stood still, showing no reaction and Jaime instantly sensed a problem. Noticing the apprehension in her eyes, he stepped back a couple of paces. “What’s the matter, wench?” Did he do it wrong? Should he have taken it slower?

She refused to meet his eyes. “I--” Her lips came together in a thin line of hesitation and self-doubt. “I’m out of practice.”

His worry draining away, he stepped into her personal space again. “I’m all yours to practice with,” he naughtily suggested, pressing the pad of his thumb to her nipple. “At your service, my lady.” With a lustful bite of her lip, she went on to undress him, pushing the shirt off his shoulders before proceeding to free him of the confines of his belt. Every time they advanced, with every line they crossed and every piece of clothing they discarded, the ache in his groin was growing more intense. Only now did he realize how touch starved he was! His blood-filled, engorged cock twitched under her touch, straining to be set free, greedy to explore her delicious depths. When the last of his clothes had joined hers on the floor, he pinned her to the desk with his body, his erection, stiff as a staff rising to greet her and jutting into her legs.

Brienne reached to cup his face. “It would be a pleasure to practice with you, Jaime.” 

Snaking his hand up to the back of her neck, he curled his fingers around her throat, applying a little pressure, and he could feel the blood pounding beneath her skin, pulsing against his palm. The excitement, the sense of anticipation sent shivers through him, set off little explosions all over his body. He slipped his free hand between her legs, and the moment he reached within, he growled, “Gods, you’re so wet for me.”

She brought her mouth to his. “Touch me, Jaime.” She began nibbling on his lips. “Torture me.” She pushed his fingers up further into her, rolling her hips around his hand. “Make me moan, scream--”

She yelped, the rest of her commands dying down when he pressed hard into her clit, her eyes wide and appreciative, a sign that this was what she wanted. Releasing his grip on her neck, he dropped to his knees. Flicking out his tongue, he began to tease her, feeling her hands on the back of his head urging him on, to succumb to his desire to eat her whole, to feel her shudder, to inhale her scent and drink in her wetness. He loved her reaction, every moan, every gasp, every hoarse swear word, every husky groan of his name turning him on, egging him on. Did she have any idea how profoundly she affected him? How fucking thrilling every noise that left her lips was? How he relished every movement, the way she locked his head between her legs, tying him to her?

He licked her slick folds, took her swollen bud into his mouth, feeling it engorge further and harden between his lips, her arousal reaching its peak in the way her entire body responded. Nipples, standing out erect and hard. Lips, pursed and swollen. Toes curled out of helplessness, soft cries, within seconds, rising up to high-pitched screams. It was as if he knew his way around her, like he’d always known how to pleasure her, like he was born to die in her lap.

Like this. Driving her mad with ecstasy.

“I want your cock inside me,” she begged, clawing at his back, but he refused to relent, fucking her with his tongue and fingers. “Jaime--” She ceased to protest when he upped his pace, stepped up the pressure. Falling into his arms when she couldn’t sustain any more, she weakly pulled him back to his feet, her arms hanging limply over his shoulders, her shaking body coming to a rest on his. “That was far better than most orgasms I’ve had,” she purred in his ear, her breasts, slick with sweat, gliding up and down his chest as she breathed hard and heavy. “And we haven’t even properly made love yet. You do know your way around a woman’s body, Jaime.”

“Wait till you see what I have in store for you next.” Unable to stay away from her lips, he lifted her and sat her on the desk, his kisses getting harder, more desperate when she began stroking his length in impatience. And this time he was ready. Eager to give her what she needed. He stepped forward and she spread her legs wider, and then with a deep expectant sigh, he sank into her. 

She gasped, taking a moment to adjust to his girth. 

The heat of her was killing him, the wetness, blinding him of all else but her beautiful body. He inched further inside, and she breathed fire into his mouth, her walls tightening around his length, grabbing and clenching at him, telling him that this was where he belonged. He was hers. And his body agreed, as did his mind, his heart and his soul when he gazed into the bottomless oceans of her eyes. “I love you, Brienne,” he whispered, just wanting to hear himself say it again. “I want you. I need you.” He drew to take in her flushed radiant face, the glow of love and lust, want and trust and so much else in her eyes.

“I love you too, Jaime,” she echoed, when he began thrusting into her, her eyelids flickering to a close as she surrendered to him.

He went in deeper and she twisted and squirmed, breathless gasps, helpless moans, throaty groans accompanying the rise and fall of her hips as she moved to meet his thrusts. Her nipples brushing against his chest, he leaned in to kiss the creamy skin of her cheek, her neck. He kept pounding into her, harder, harder, the indecent sounds she made, the fire in her eyes urging him on, to take her to the edge of this world, to finish this with a bang. “Fuck me until I scream, Jaime,” she demanded, and he was only too happy to comply, his hips mercilessly ramming into hers, his hands everywhere - massaging her clit, squeezing her breasts, teasing her nipples. 

So fucking pliable, she was, yet tortuously tight…

He went down on her again… This was life. _This_ woman writhing and moaning in his arms. The one he’d happily commit himself to for a million lifetimes to come.

He groaned. She whispered soft words of affection. He grunted. She sighed. He roared her name. She screamed out his in a helpless plea to put an end to her misery. 

He kissed her, he licked her, he nibbled at her soft skin, the heat of her sex, the taste of her sweat, the heady intoxication of her arousal and the passion in her screams putting his mind out of all else but her.

Yes, she was the one. He could lie forever in these arms, perish in the depths of her eyes. How could he have spent days brooding, doing nothing about this at all?

She cried out loud, and he could feel her tremors begin again, her pussy gripping him hard, dancing to the rhythmic tunes of his thrusts. Sensing her end, he pushed into her, balls deep, fucking her in a blind fury, releasing all the pent-up, lust-fueled energy in him. “Jaime,” she screamed, quivering and shaking between him and the hard wooden surface, her orgasm rippling through her body, tearing her to pieces.

She fell back into his arms and stayed there for a moment, then straightening again, she brought his face to hers to kiss him. Summoning up all the strength he could muster, he drove into her. She pushed back, meeting his hips, wanting to feel his climax, to be one with him, to take in all of him. The tightening of his stomach and the quivering in his thighs told him he wasn’t far away. 

“This is the best thing that has ever happened to me, Brienne,” he gasped, and plunging into her for one final time, he exploded inside her. “ _You_ are.” His strength worn off, he held her for a few quiet moments, let himself be held by her, soaking in the sensation of their perspiration and every bit of their bodies mingling together. It took a while for their hearts to resume their usual pace, their ragged and laboured breathing to return to normal, for them to return to this world. 

He had never felt like this before with anyone else. It was fucking beautiful. _She_ was beautiful.

“You lied to me,” he said, once he’d found his tongue and the energy to start a conversation, “You don’t need any practice. You’re perfect--”

Brienne caught his lips with hers. “How about we try and better what we just did? A different position, maybe?”

Lifting her off the desk, Jaime carried her to the bedroom. “Always at your service, my lady.”

+++++

_One year later…_

  
  


“Congratulations!” Sansa gushed, enveloping her friend in an affectionate hug and a peck on her cheek. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

“It was all because of you,” Brienne expressed her heartfelt gratitude as soon as Sansa had settled down beside her to examine the huge rock on her finger. “If it wasn’t for your intervention--”

“I’d still be a confirmed bachelor,” Jaime chimed in, like Brienne, relieved that he had not met such a fate.

“And I’d probably have started dating Renly out of frustration and self-denial,” Brienne continued, lost in thought. “Only to break up with him later.”

“I’d still be pining for her, burning from within,” he went on, recalling his mental state a year back.

Brienne smiled. “And I’d have slowly resigned to his decision of no-romance, no-commitments.”

“I’d probably have died of jealousy,” he mused. “I hated Renly when Brienne was attracted to him, the prospect of her falling for him--”

“She never would’ve fallen in love with Renly,” Sansa broke in. “It was always you, Jaime.”

Reaching across the table to take her hand, Jaime met his wench’s eyes. “And it was always her.”

“Quite right,” agreed a smug voice from behind him. Bronn came in, exchanging a side-eyed _I-told-you-so_ look with Jaime as he entered. “Just that you idiots needed us to show you that.”

While he was in wholehearted agreement with his friend, Jaime refrained from admitting it, dreading the bragging, more of the unsolicited advice and the smug grins he’d have to put up with if he made such a mistake.

“So,” Bronn drawled, occupying the fourth vacant chair at the table, “how dost thou, Jaime, the soon-to-be-married man?”

“You really want to listen to the long winding answer to that?” Jaime warned his friend, knowing Shakespeare was not really his forte. “It’s quite a speech, I must say.”

Bronn made an impatient face. “Just the summary, for fuck’s sake.”

Smiling, Jaime leaned in to kiss his fiancee. “Get yourself a wife, Bronn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, at the end of another multi-chapter journey. I was pretty nervous writing this one because 1. English isn't my first language and 2. I've been playing around with the bard's work with just a bit of superficial knowledge about it.  
> But you, my dear friends, have been such a big encouragement, holding my hand through and through. 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who has commented, given kudos, or even silently read. If you've enjoyed it, it matters to me.
> 
> Take care and stay safe!


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